


One Against the Wind

by 4getfulimaginator



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - 18th century, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Shipwrecked, Angst, Caribbean setting, Coming of Age, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Torture, My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, Non-Graphic Violence, Pirate Emma, Pirates, Sexy Times, Virginity, Young Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Young Emma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 11:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 147,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2467520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4getfulimaginator/pseuds/4getfulimaginator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>CS historical AU (early 18th century), real world setting, pirate!Emma and pirate!Killian.</b>
</p><p>During the early 1700s, Emma Swan is an orphan who becomes a pirate when she crosses paths with Killian Jones, the Captain of the <i>Jolly Roger</i>. Together, they become a fighting force to be reckoned with amid constant peril.  However, the ever growing bond between them is what will make their partnership impenetrable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: We'll meet Killian in Chapter 1, and just so you know, Diane is NOT an OUAT character. Please be kind - this was the first fic I ever wrote, so it will have a beginning learner's mistakes.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

Emma had always loved the water, the way it tried to entrance her and envelop her, its waves like the welcoming arms of the mother she never had. She had given herself completely to the sea — body, mind, and soul — but now it was trying to kill her. Water was choking her lungs, burning away any air left for her to hold onto.

She was drowning. And worst of all, her life was not the only one at stake.

Desperately, Emma struggled against the fierce swells threatening to sweep her away into unconsciousness again. Misty air was clawing at her eyes, making her surrounding difficult to focus on, but it seemed the fierce thunderstorm was abating. Only when the sun rose again would she discover how many had survived.

It was only when she looked down that her limbs were revived by the feel of the warm body locked in her embrace — and it was heavier than she had thought it was. Grinning wryly to herself, Emma moved her hands down to grasp two wrists and feel a steady pulse beating. Thank God Diane was still alive — if that storm hadn't killed her, losing her best friend surely would have.

Again, Emma tried to swim — to push, to pull away. But the wind was too strong, and there was nowhere to go. She —  _they_  were in the middle of the ocean in god only knows where, and their only means of transportation was most likely at the bottom of it, gone forever. First it had been that battle, and when the storm hit, the weakened hull had collapsed in despair. Just like Diane had so many months ago. Damn — there would never be any forgetting, would there? Gritting her teeth, Emma focused on reaching for something to hold onto, not her errant thoughts. Her fingers brushed against something hard, and slowly, touch sparked recognition of its shape. A flat wooden plank, large enough for two bodies to rest upon, was floating next to them, and she hadn't even seen it. Never mind that it was moldy and wretched...

When Diane's motionless form was safely on board, Emma finally plopped down next to her, painfully aware of the stinging seawater washing over the wounds on her hands and legs. Lying back until her head met wood, she sighed deeply at the gray clouds ahead, which had chased away the stars that could guide them. Her eyes wanted to close, her body exhausted. But she had to keep awake…she had to keep watch if there was anyone out there, any other ship in sight that could help them. It was bad to let your guard down when your enemies were in front of you, but it was infinitely worse to be unprepared before they came.

Anyway, Diane needed her now more than ever, and they stood a better chance at beating back whatever else life decided to throw at them if they were together. And luckily, Emma had enough strength for both of them. But would it be enough?

The thoughts that kept plaguing her refused to be quelled, and when her mind, restless as the sea, lulled her with its rhythm, Emma didn't even remember when she had drifted from consciousness into sleep.

* * *

When her face felt like it was on fire, Emma immediately sensed something was wrong and bolted upright, sleep forgotten and her body now soundly awake. Groaning quietly, she glanced at Diane to see her resting peacefully, her chest rising up and down from repeated intake of breath. Squinting upward, Emma assessed that it was near noon, the sun high in a cloudless blue sky. The sea was calm and flat. And suddenly, a shiver ran through her at that realization. Nothing was visible for leagues, only open water. The  _Titan_  was completely gone, as if it had never existed, and there wasn't even any sign of a shipwreck.

Alone. They were utterly alone. Emma shuddered, accepting that her worst fears were now a reality. No one from their ship was going to save them, and she was drifting in shark-infested ocean on a wooden board. She was bleeding, and she didn't have any fresh water or food to give to the injured woman by her side.

If someone didn't come by soon, they were going to starve or perish from dehydration. Neither of those options sounded pleasant.

"Emma?" It took her a second to understand that the hoarse voice whispering her name belonged to Diane.

Emma leaned over Diane, trying to smile reassuringly as she took her limp hand in her own. "How are you feeling?" She looked so pale, her black hair such a striking contrast to the whiteness of her face.

Diane coughed. "Water?" she weakly asked.

"Not yet, but there will be soon," Emma half-smiled, feeling her eyes prickle and try to give her away. They needed help, and fast.

"Where are we, Emma? What — what's happened?" Diane tried to lift her head up, but leaned back against the board quickly in defeat.

She scrunched her nose, her mouth going dry — how do you explain a fight, a hell of a storm, and how their current situation in one breath to someone who's been passed out during all three? Emma opened her mouth to explain, wracking her brain on the best way to summarize what they had just been through, but her eyes flickered to the horizon in that instant.

Her heart literally stopped before it soared, hope building in her chest. "I see a ship, Diane!" Emma hardened her gaze, scrutinizing how far away it was. "And it seems to be headed right toward us!"

Diane smiled gently, squeezing Emma's hand before she closed her eyes once more. Emma, however, looked straight ahead, fixated on the rapidly approaching ship. It was moving too fast to be a mere fishing boat, so the chances of it being a much larger vessel were fairly high. And of course, these days, large ships could only be maintained by the Navy or merchants. If it was an enemy ship, their prospects would be poor. But that rare flame of eagerness that rose in her chest grew every passing moment. She squinted fiercely, wishing for her telescope as the vessel's flag came into focus and stopped being a blurry image.

The sight before her elicited fear in others, but for Emma, only a wide grin crossed her face when she saw the colors, black and white arrogantly announcing who was in command.

Finally, some kindred spirits.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Killian isn't Captain Hook yet in this story— he has both hands, he's like 27 or 28 years old, there never was a curse…but that doesn't mean he never met Milah or that the troubles in his past haven't formed him into that specific personality yet. Doc is not a OUAT character; he is an OC, like Diane. I've only read novels with navigational terms and such, so I'll try my best to describe everything; I'm not keeping to the vocabulary of this time period, but all anachronisms in the content will be kept to a minimum.

Pirates were not renown for their mercy or their charity, but Emma was counting on displays of both nonetheless. Better to deal with men who professed to have no morals than with conniving merchant sailors or those priggish fops pretending to be soldiers of the realm. Besides, all pirates had some code of honor, so maybe these would have compassion on two sick, stranded women. Or, she winced inwardly, they could try to take advantage of their helplessness. As the ship drew nearer, she prepared for the inevitable.

Curling her hand underneath the top of her right boot, she checked to see if at least one of her possessions was left to her. Searching frantically, Emma sighed in relief when she felt it safely tucked into the stiff hem — it always had been, and happily, it still was. Her other hand went to her hair, pulling down the wet strands to her face, which seemed to be unmarked for the most part. She had a headache, probably from severe dehydration since there was no telling how long they had been floating here, and her clothes… Emma frowned when she saw her torn shirt and ragged pants. Pirates were also not known for their…prudence when it came to women. Her boots were intact but soaking wet, and aside from what was on her person, all her belongings were gone. Her sword, which she had worked so hard to earn…the compass which she had stolen when she was just eight years old…everything.

Emma shook her head, refuting that twinge of dismay and regret that sprung. She would regain what she had lost — you could always acquire new objects if you had the means to do so. Hopefully, her remaining weapons would suffice to protect herself and Diana.

She could hear shouting and yelling in the distance, the echoes too faint to reach her all the way from the approaching pirate ship. The crew — and the captain — must have seen them by now, the prow of the hull cutting through the waves determinedly in their direction. Straightening up, Emma suddenly became dizzy, covering her mouth when the urge to vomit overwhelmed her. This just got better and better. It was obvious her body had not recovered from its near encounter with death, and in these circumstances, fighting off a bunch of energetic, temperamental ruffians who were attracted to trouble like moths to a flame was going to be extremely risky, not to mention near impossible if that scenario was real. Diane was in no condition to swordfight, so in any case she was better off asleep.

When Emma tried to stand up to herald their oncoming "saviors," her legs wobbled and her attempts to keep her balance were for nothing, her behind bumping roughly against the board as her body collapsed. Shooting pain tore through her head when it hit the wooden surface, and though every fiber of her brain was screaming at her to stay awake, to fight the blackness surrounding her vision and blocking out the light, Emma surrendered to the haze that took her away, her eyes fluttering shut. Perhaps it would be better to actually greet the men they would be sharing personal space with for who knows how long, to see from the start exactly who they would be dealing with. Perhaps it would be better to fight from the beginning instead of being cautious and analytic. Or perhaps it was best to give up entirely.

Emma didn't disagree with any of those suggestions, but they were all part of the great "perhaps." Every inch of her flesh and every single muscle had been defeated — for now — and she was giving into relief from it all, not giving up or backing down. To hell with the pirates. She would see what she was faced with soon enough. And after all, Emma reminded herself dreamily, she did love a challenge.

* * *

The  _Jolly Roger_  curved through the sea, masterly charging with speed, grace, and style. One of the swiftest vessels ever built, she was the pride of her captains and a companion of the element she navigated. She was appreciated, admired, and defended, but Killian Jones was the first who commandeered her  _and_  loved her at the same time. He would anything to keep his ship safe, as he knew she would do her best for him in return. The  _Jolly Roger_  was his home and his heart, the finest place on earth where he could forget the past and think only of the present, of what the future would bring. Treasure and adventure were his daily draught, tantalizing and addictive, but the thrill of a sea voyage was more pleasurable than anything he had ever experienced. Well, that and the exception of female company.

Killian grinned when the wind swept through his hair and ruffled it, its powerful touch like a lingering caress upon his skin as he manned the helm. His crew was busy at work, adjusting the sails and rigging to the rising gusts, but he had the honor of guiding his girl toward their current destination. Most of his men did not know how hard he had strived to become a captain, and though they grumbled from time to time that he pushed them too hard, he had been in their shoes not that long ago, taking orders instead of giving them. He would never say it aloud, but the crew was vital to the health of his ship, and without them she wouldn't get very far. Someone had to be in command — someone experienced, like him — but despite being pirates, they were in this together. And considering everything, he was a pretty fair leader in comparison to the bastards they had sailed under.

Killian opened his spyglass once again to confirm that his men's suspicions were correct. Two figures — no doubt the survivors of a shipwreck — were the reason he had sent out a lifeboat just moments ago. There was no way to tell if these soon-to-be guests were women or men, but he would know for certain very soon. Watching as Smarty and Cutler lifted the two bodies into the boat from the flimsy piece of wood they had been lying on, Killian snapped the spyglass shut and left the helm, advancing across the deck to await their return. No other wreckage had been in sight when the man at the crow's nest had signaled below with the news, but that wasn't too strange after the storm they had sailed through a week ago. The  _Jolly Roger_  had barely stayed afloat during that tidal hell, and she was the best of the best. Most other ships wouldn't have stood a chance.

As the men ascended the rope ladder, their groans and wheezing caused an amused smile to cross Killian's face. "After all the work I've assigned you lot, surely you can't be out of breath carrying two corpses? Are you so unfit that I need to give you more tasks, hmm?" he snickered.

Cutler rolled his eyes as he clambered onboard, one of the so-called corpses hanging over his shoulder. "Maybe it would be easier for us, Captain, if these 'corpses' were not alive and breathing. And no matter what stories say, carrying women is hard work 'cause they are bloody heavy!"

Smarty stepped right behind him, dropping to his knees on deck out of sheer exhaustion. Carefully, he laid the body he had been carrying next to Cutler's. They stood upright as Killian sauntered over, hiding his curiosity to see whom his crew had found.

"Well, well, well — alive indeed, and very easy on the eyes as well," Killian commented smugly, bending down to grasp the golden-haired girl's chin with his hand and turn her face toward him. She didn't appear to be older than eighteen, her long curls splayed around her head and her lips parted slightly. Pausing for a moment, he then looked up at his crew, his sapphire eyes crystalizing. "Take both of them to my quarters and have Doc pay them a visit. These lovely ladies are going to be accompanying us for quite some time."

Turning on his heels after glancing once more at the unconscious women, Killian strode back to the helm, his boots clicking against the smooth floor. "Full speed ahead, mates — we've got bumpy seas to cross yet!" he yelled, the rest of the crew quick to obey. His signature devilish smirk reappearing, Killian grasped the wheel firmly and gave it a spin, his long black overcoat shifting slightly from side to side. Two beautiful females asleep in  _his_  chambers, a strong breeze, his ship below his feet, and the empty horizon stretching out far ahead — what more could any pirate ask for? He licked his lips sensually, his smirk extending as his imagination took control. The one with the blonde hair — she looked exceptional at rest. He was eagerly anticipating when she would be fully awake.

* * *

When Emma opened her eyes, she closed them again immediately. Her forehead was throbbing, her legs were as heavy as blocks of stone, and her arms refused to move. The sudden light piercing her eyesight wasn't helping either.

Slowly and methodically, she gradually lifted her eyelids until her whereabouts came into view. It looked like she was in a cabin…wait, where was Diane? Flipping instantly on her side and regretting her movement when her ribs jolted in pain, she saw a middle-aged man attending to her friend, who happened to be lying next to her on the bed. He was dressed simply in a loose shirt and brown trousers, a leather bag sitting next to him as he applied a compress to Diane's forehead. Finally, she was conscious, saying nothing as the man took out a vial from his bag and opened it, dripping its contents onto a spoon he seemingly procured out of thin air and offered to her. Hesitating, Diane took the spoon and quietly imbibed the liquid, making a face of disgust when its taste met her tongue. The doctor chuckled softly, taking back the spoon before turning to Emma.

"Oh, you're awake as well — the captain will be pleased with your progress," he cheerfully stated, rising from his seat on the bed. "I'm John Hanson, but everyone just calls me Doc. I managed to clean and bind your scrapes, and I think the mild concussion you suffered is healing very nicely. I also took the liberty of giving you water to drink while you slept and removing most of your wet garments — your friend here," he mentioned, pointing to Diane, "came to a while before you did, and she's been a splendid patient."

Diane blushed and looked down, but Emma gaped, distracted by the doctor's last statement and ignoring the rest of what he had said. Oh, he thought he was being clever, not telling her the truth about Diane's health by drawing attention to her own — but, Emma reasoned with a grimace of discomfort, she could deal with that later. Now was the time to tread carefully.

"Thank you for all your, uh, help, Mr.— _Doc_ ," Emma replied through gritted teeth, "but could you tell us where we are, exactly, and more importantly, where we're headed?"

Doc only smiled as he walked to the door. "You will find out in a matter of minutes — the captain himself is on his way to speak with you. And," he accentuated, stopping when he opened the door, "if I were you, it would be wise not to arouse his temper — he's rather impatient."

A low, sultry voice interrupted precisely during that brief pause. " _Impatient_  to meet the ladies occupying my cabin — may I enter now, Doc?" His tone was calm only on the surface, searching and restless underneath.

Doc nodded in a slight bow before disappearing from the entry, another man in his place. The stranger shut the door with his back toward them, and Emma's eyes widened involuntarily when he faced them afterwards.

Full, black leather attire was only one of the captain's unusual characteristics. Emma looked up and down his attractive form, noticing the small details that most would miss on first sight. The earring that swayed carelessly from his right ear. The silver cross and pendants hanging around his neck against his bare upper chest. The smoky kohl lining a pair of brilliant blue eyes that were staring back at her with mirth and interest. The contours of his tan face, surrounded by contrasting dark hair. His image was burned into her mind, and just as quickly, she wanted to forget it. He was a handsome rogue — there were no doubts about that from the impish, somewhat charming smile his lips were forming — and he was trouble. And Emma knew all about where this kind of trouble could lead. This pirate captain was dangerous and alluring, a deadly combination.

"Like what you see, love?" he inquired with a raised brow. Emma felt her breath catch in her throat when he addressed her, but she swallowed it down and dispelled her fears. He was probably conceited on account of his looks and position — and two could play at that game.

She sighed deeply, moistening her tongue. "I was only checking to see if you really were the captain of this ship or an imposter — no crew member on a pirate ship would purposely outdress the man who pays him. That outfit," she pointed with a lift of her chin, "would be suicidal."

The captain laughed, his white teeth glinting and reflecting light. "Oh, you're a feisty one — how very fortunate for me. I am Killian Jones, Captain of the  _Jolly Roger_ , but you are..?" he asked, waving his hand to speed up the introduction.

Emma's eyes narrowed. Looking quickly at Diane, whose eyes had closed once more, she firmly took command of the conversation. "What are our names to you,  _Captain_?" she replied suspiciously.

Killian paced toward the bed, stopping before he sat down on its edge. "Would you prefer I call you by some name other than your own, darling? Because I assure you," he smirked as he leered at her face, his intent gaze raking downwards, "I can find some suitable ones in record time."

Emma peeked down, noticing that she was only wearing a large white shirt meant for a man. The fabric was sheen and almost see-through, but despite that her other articles of clothing besides her drawers were missing, her corset had only been loosened but not removed — and this was the first time she was grateful for its presence. Additionally, she realized her boots were gone when she stretched her legs out underneath the covers. This was bad.

Shaking her head, she lifted her head and stared back defiantly at Jones, who had not taken his eyes off her. "You tell me where we are headed, and I'll tell you our names."

"Bargaining with your savior, love? Tsk, what a lack of manners you have. You are on my vessel, safely stowed away in my own chambers. Few women have had this honor, willingly or not, and few men have had the occasion to see where the captain lives. You could be more  _grateful_ ," he reprimanded.

Emma hardened her expression, not moving. She hated terms of endearment coming out from any man's mouth. "My  _request_  stands."

Slightly smirking, Killian stroked the stubble on his chin and pretended to consider the matter before returning his gaze to her face. He stood up and walked towards his desk in the middle of the room. "We are cruising through the Caribbean presently and making our way towards Tortuga — we need supplies and such, you know. Otherwise, our destination is what every pirate seeks — treasure, rum…and  _women_." He turned his head when he uttered that last word, meaningfully drawing it out while giving her an intense, smoldering look.

Emma only rolled her eyes and tilted her head, knowing that she was blushing and despising the effect  _Jones_  was having on her. The doctor was right — it wouldn't be good to get on the captain's bad side. He was already flirting with her when he had just met her. Damn pirate. "This is Diane," she cautiously left out their last names, "and I am Emma." Seeing his silent prompt for her to elaborate, Emma rushed out a succinct explanation. "The ship we journeyed on capsized during a terrible storm, and we were the only ones to survive." Or so she believed. There would never be any way to be absolutely sure.

Killian squinted at her face, as if trying to figure something out. Emma swallowed hard. He knew she wasn't telling the whole truth, but he finally looked away without asking any more questions. For now. She had a feeling she wouldn't be let off so easily in the near future.

"Emma," he tried out her name, seeming to relish the sound of it. "No last name that matches it?" When she didn't respond, he continued. "Well, dearest Emma, you and your friend are welcome to use my quarters until we land at Tortuga. I will be using it as well, but I promise to be a gentleman," he added with a grin, "and my men will be ordered to leave you alone. Unless, of course, you wish otherwise — a command  _I'd_  be happy to comply with." He even had the nerve to wink at the end.

Emma felt drained by the whole exchange, her vision becoming blurry again. It was hard to keep up with Captain Jones and his onslaught of inappropriate remarks. The man in question must have noticed the way her body swayed dizzily, so he hastily made his way to the door without another word, deftly grabbing some papers and a nearby flask.

"Wait!" Emma called out, her mind reminding her to ask one last question. Killian stopped, his brows raised. "Why…why are you doing this?"

"I told you," he responded arrogantly, "I'm a gentleman."

Emma glared at him for repeating that useless, worthless word. She didn't care if it almost sounded like he believed what he was saying to be true. "Pirates aren't gentlemen…and they always have a price for their  _generosity_ ," she hissed.

Killian was suddenly right in front of her, his face too close to hers. "What a perceptive observation. Since you are so bright, I'd like to  _request_  you keep in mind that you are on  _my_  ship in the midst of the ocean. You are guarded by  _my_  men, who follow  _my_  orders." His words bit icily at her ears, all false politeness gone and replaced with sharp anger. "This is how it works on my ship, darling:  _I_  make the demands,  _you_  follow them." His eyes were cold and foreboding.

Just as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone, the door shut behind him. Emma leaned back on the soft bed —  _his_  bed — and traced the outlines of the bandages on her arms, white clashing with sun-kissed skin. That hadn't ended well — how was she to know her retort would infuriate him like that? After all, she was the invalid here, and he was just an egocentric, annoying pirate. And she thought pirates would be more helpful because of their "mutual history." Hah.

When her nose met the pillow, she couldn't help inhaling its scent, a mixture of clean ocean air and exotic spices filling her senses as the rocking motion of the ship helped her join Diane in sleep.

This was going to be a long voyage, in more ways than one.


	3. Chapter 3

_She was running again through the streets of London, her skirts flying. "Run, run, run!" her feet chanted as they hit the dirty cobblestones rhythmically. He couldn't catch her — he mustn't. She tried so hard and still nothing was fair, nothing was right, nothing was simple. The rotten orphanage she had escaped from when she was seven had refused to feed her, and now life was gradually ripping away the only way she had to survive. If she lost this…_

_She didn't like stealing — she never had. But there was no choice. Steal…or die. And though the end of each day was like a dark tunnel, always obscuring the light at its exit, she wasn't ready to quit on her future yet._

_She had carefully tied her long hair away from her face, but it was still occasionally tumbling out in front, getting into her eyes. She would have liked to cut it short, but everyone would ridicule a woman with hair like a man's. But who really cared about approval? When you lived on the run, timing was everything — and so was your sight. Faster and faster she went, not recognizing her surroundings until it was too late. No…no…no, her mind cried._

_When she had been caught as a child, strangers admonished her with kindly words of warning before they retrieved the property she had taken. Now two rough arms spun her around when she reached the cul-de-sac end of the alley she had mistakenly turned into._

_Words were not spoken — hands pawed at her face and her clothes, limbs pummeling her body until she lay upon the ground, bruised, battered, and defeated. The man she had stolen a watch from gave her a cruel, taunting grin before strolling away, swinging the chain as he whistled._

_Ever since she was old enough to understand what the meaning of poverty was, Emma had promised herself she would never cry, no matter how bad things were. And she kept breaking that promise. Again…and again…and again. Tears streamed down her cheeks when the pain of her injuries set in, and eventually, sobs burst out from her mouth as she leaned against the ground for support._

_No one cared about a weak, helpless girl begging for scraps of food. No one wanted to shelter a lonely orphan who had only ever wanted one thing…_

_When would it all end? When?_

* * *

Killian fumed as he paced, heatedly scolding one man for tying the rigging incorrectly and another for doing a poor job of sweeping the deck. It had been nearly a week since he had spoken with Emma, and that bloody woman's defiance was still digging under his skin, driving him mad. But he had underestimated her, and after some contemplation, he was willing to admit that. But she would never say that she had made wrong assumptions about him… No, she was too bloody proud.

He had placed Doc in charge of overseeing Emma's and Diane's care, and every evening he entered his room for a few hours' rest, the two women were always captured by deep, fitful slumber. Their meals were brought to them during the day, when he was busy keeping his ship in order, and at night he was left with the sound of Emma's breathing and Diane's frequent coughing as he ate his meals and then went to sleep on a pitiful ensemble of blankets. Now there was one additional benefit of reaching Tortuga as soon as possible: he'd get his bed back.

Still, he reluctantly confessed to himself, watching that exasperating Emma sleep had become one of his favorite pastimes, the only time her expression was peaceful and not strained by emotion. The vision nestling on his pillow, her wondrous hair around her head like a halo, brought a smile to his face no matter how hard he tried to dispel it. At first he had thought she was beautiful, but she was more than that. An angel, perhaps.

But as his fingers traced the rim of his wine glass, he drank in the fact that whatever Emma was, angels were far above the company of demons like him. Swallowing a bit of rum to burn away that hurtful truth, he retreated to his unruly temporary bed, thinking all the while that questioning whether he deserved Emma's respect or not was irrelevant. After Tortuga, he would never see her again.

* * *

When Doc entered the cabin to once again bring breakfast, Emma rebelled. She was fed up with being confined for so long, sleeping almost nonstop for the sake of her "recovery" because the boredom of being bedridden would have killed her. She needed to move about, pirate crew or not. True, her "prison" was very fine, and aside from the current disheveled state of the bed, the captain certainly kept all his belongings in order — cleanliness was a rarity on any ship, but to find a  _pirate_  who was organized and had impeccable taste…

She asked for her old clothes as well as Diane's, but the doctor informed her that they had been in such poor condition that they had been burned. The only items that had been saved were her boots, which were dry and waiting. Emma stifled her sigh of relief before she confronted the other problem: just what was she and Diane going to wear?

"Oh, the captain has suitable apparel in his wardrobe," Doc explained, going to that piece of furniture and opening its doors. "I'm sure you'll find something in here."

Emma looked incredulous. "He  _keeps_  women's clothing? And he won't mind us wearing what we choose?" When Doc just shrugged in reply, she narrowed her eyes. "I don't have any money to buy them, either."

The doctor laughed. "It is a courtesy, Miss Emma. The captain considers you his guests and being so, you should feel at home during your stay. That includes being dressed comfortably. After all," he grinned, "would you rather parade naked around the ship for the remaining week you are here?"

Diane burst into giggles on seeing Emma's frown, and when the doctor joined in with a chuckle of his own, Emma threw her hands into the air in mock defeat and started perusing the assortment of dresses inside the wardrobe.

"Since we're having so much fun with the clothes," she grumbled loudly as she pushed dresses from side to side, "how about a bath first?"

* * *

Killian stood at the prow of the  _Jolly Roger_ , closing his eyes as he smelled the ocean. The wind had been steady for days in a row — a rare occurrence — and the weather was optimal. However, the empty air was short-lived. When the sound of many footsteps headed in his direction reached his ears, he refused to turn around and approach them — let them come to him.

"Captain?" Doc quietly asked. Killian clenched his jaw, knowing his respite was over.

"Yes, Doctor?" he smoothly returned, his back still facing him.

"I'd like to speak with you in private," called another familiar voice. Killian stiffened instantly.

"Emma…come to question my motives again, have you?" Killian half-turned and gave her a polite, tight smile that almost resembled a grimace. It vanished when he saw her appearance.

Diane had succumbed to a deep blue calico dress, but Emma had adamantly rejected any of the stylish gowns Killian had. Who knew whom they had belonged to before, Emma pointed out, and moreover, dresses were highly cumbersome for travel. She had found a simple red blouse and brown breeches hidden at the bottom of the cabinet, and she had woven six discarded bandanas into a strong braid for a belt — her fingers had always been skilled that way. Like Killian, she once had a long black overcoat to protect her from the wind — but it was lost in the ocean by now.

The warmth of the sun had convinced her to settle for one layer of clothing, and when her hair had dried from bathing, she had Diane braid the side strands and tie the ends together in the back. Emma knew her choice of attire clung to her form more than a dress would, but it was loose enough that she felt modest and comfortable.  _Comfortable_ , she recalled with a wry smile. It had taken all of her arguing and Diane's pleading to get Doc to drag buckets of warm water and a bathtub to the captain's quarters, and when the poor man had to guard the door as well thanks to Killian's orders to keep his crew at bay, Emma almost felt sorry for him. She didn't want him to get into any trouble on their account — he had done the impossible and made Diane smile, and that hadn't happened for months now. The captain was lucky to have such a compassionate man working for him.

Killian clearing his throat took Emma away from her thoughts and brought her back to the present. He had looked surprised at first, but his expression changed so quickly from one fleeting emotion to the next that Emma couldn't guess what his true reaction was. Instead, he leaned forward and gently took one of her hands in his, lifting it to his lips and kissing it while boldly staring into her eyes. Her skin suddenly tingled, warmth spreading through her veins.

"You look enchanting," he smiled before releasing her hand from his hold. He nodded at Diane as well, who was standing timidly behind Emma. "Both of you. Now, what was it you wished to speak to me about, lass?"

Emma had been expecting his anger and contempt, his repugnance and total disdain. She was taken aback at his respectful gesture and his compliments, confused by the change in his behavior since they had spoken the first time. She had never seen him since then, and after her harsh words during their introduction, she had believed he would be unapproachable. Apparently, she was wrong.

When Killian raised a brow questioningly, Emma realized she hadn't answered his question. "Um…," she stammered, "I—I'd like to discuss our…lodgings." Lodgings? A mental slap was in order for that lousy excuse, Emma rebuked silently.

He nodded and gesticulated that she join him by the railing, turning around once more to face the prow. As if on cue, Doc carefully led Diane away by the arm, telling her about the ship's features and something about "a tour." Emma half-smiled — it was easy to trust someone like Doc. The man before her was another story entirely.

Hesitantly, Emma drew near Killian and followed the focus of his eyesight. It was he who broke the tense silence, tearing her away from the view of cerulean waves undulating in a sensuous dance.

"So, what about your lodgings?" he inquired, still not looking at her.

"Oh…that…" Emma bit her lip. What was she supposed to say? No,  _how_  was she supposed to say what needed to be said?

Killian gave her a curious smirk, his gaze suddenly fixated on hers. Emma was mesmerized — he certainly wasn't making this any easier.

She peered down at her feet, her boots shiny and polished.  _Get on with it, Swan_. "I wanted…to thank you for your kindness."

If Killian had been prepared for anything she would say next, it wasn't that. He looked very perplexed and unsure if she wasn't merely jesting.

"You saved our lives, you took care of us, you let two strangers in—," Emma rushed on, worried that her pride wouldn't allow her to continue. She'd had a lot of time to think on their encounter. "…and you kept your word," she hurriedly finished, ready to walk away. A firm hand clasped her shoulder and prevented it.

"You are thanking me?" Killian was bemused by this new deference in Emma — she was furious when they met, and now she was  _thankful_. What an irksome woman.

Emma pursed her lips, speechless for a moment. "I've always been quick to judge and quick to speak — it's one of my faults, you could say. I…appreciate what you have done for me and Diane, and I want you to know it."

His growing smile deftly transformed into a suggestive smirk, unabashedly heated. He leaned his lips close to her ear until she could feel his warm breath touch her cheek. "If you truly want me to know the depth of your  _appreciation_ , there are other ways to  _demonstrate_  it than mere words, love," he huskily replied.

Just like that, soft-spoken Killian was gone and Captain Killian Jones was back in all his flirtatious glory. Emma pulled away immediately, glaring at him. "You know what just  _happened_  between us?" she emphasized, pointing with her hand between him and herself, "A moment of honesty. And you just ruined it,  _Captain_."

"Mistakes can be fixed, my lovely Emma," Killian winked. Emma felt her anger fade away on seeing a real smile on his lips, and strangely, she couldn't help grinning back.

"You're insufferable," she chuckled. Killian only raised his eyebrows in a seductive manner, which made Emma laugh. His smile widened.

When Emma regained her composure, she absentmindedly twirled a stray lock of hair around her fingers, rubbing it. The awkwardness between them was back in full force, leaving her at a loss for what to say. Killian's warm fingers gently lifted Emma's chin up, making her look at him again. He searched her face, eventually satisfied with his findings when he spoke.

"It was understandable — you have been through a lot," he enigmatically stated. Before Emma could ask him what he meant, he began to briskly walk away from her, glancing back when she didn't follow. "I heard Doc mention a tour of the ship — would you care to join me, Miss Emma?"

"Swan." In a flash, Emma unraveled his queer answer: she had been forgiven, and she hadn't even asked. On seeing his puzzled stare at her utterance, she reached his side in moments, clarifying, "My name is Emma  _Swan_."

Killian half-smiled. "It's a beautiful name, love — you shouldn't be so reluctant to share it with others."

Ignoring the ogling crewmen they passed by on their way, Emma wondered about Captain Jones. He was intelligent and charming — when he put his mind to it — and he seemed to have an uncanny ability to read people like books. And sometimes he  _did_  act like a gentleman — when he didn't misbehave like a pirate. In the end, Emma decided she didn't really want Killian as her enemy. From what she had seen so far, he would make a much more interesting friend.

* * *

For every day of the following week, it was the same pattern: Emma would leap out of bed and get dressed, racing afterwards to the helm so Killian could show her more about maneuvering his ship. She would spend the day in the captain's presence, listening to him talk animatedly about his experiences navigating the sea and blatantly ignoring when the sunset signaled that it was time for her to say good night. The crew remained strangely silent, never interfering or commenting on their captain's attentions to his new passenger.

Diane stayed behind under Doc's supervision, sometimes accompanying him to the surgeon's quarters arm in arm. When Emma saw Diane every evening, so forlorn and silent, she was reminded of the memories that led to Diane's weak health and her dying spirit — and they made her blood boil. When the doctor pulled her aside one afternoon and informed her about his worries, Emma felt afraid, an emotion she failed to quell. Her friend's lack of appetite and her growing fatigue indicated that something was seriously wrong, and for the first time during his years as a physician, he didn't know what was causing it. Once, Diane had been resilient and happy — but now, that was all gone, and Emma didn't know how to bring it back.

Nevertheless, Doc was helping immensely, and in the meantime, Emma tried to brush away her fears and find some pleasure in her newfound education — and, when she was honest with herself, her conversations with the dashing captain. She was fascinated by every aspect of the ship, from its design and the ropes and the mast to all the different nautical terms — and the crow's nest. Even though Diane and she had sailed for more than a year on the same ship, they never had the opportunity to learn any of this because no one was willing to teach them. And suave charmer though he was, Killian was quite the teacher when he dropped his womanizing act and let his attachment to the  _Jolly Roger_  shine brightly — like the stars and constellations they were currently watching appear at twilight.

"All right, answer me this,  _Captain_ : how does a gentleman become a pirate?" Emma teased as she adeptly tied a double-eight knot, just like he had shown her a moment before.

"Call me Killian, love." Killian's smirk vanished after he ruminated on what she had asked, and anguish clouded his face before it was gone as quickly as it came, skillfully covered by a resolute mask of indifference. "Only if you tell me the true reason why you two young ladies were crossing the Caribbean by yourselves."

Ah, there it was, the question she knew would haunt her. Emma opened her mouth to give him some excuse, but the words didn't come out. He looked like he genuinely wanted to know about her, and she felt torn — torn between confiding in him and turning him away again.

Killian must have seen her anxiety, because his voice dropped down to an almost pleading whisper. "Try something new, darling — it's called trust." He was gazing at her earnestly, every part the fierce pirate and winsome gentleman he tried to be. "I could help you. You know you only have to ask."

Before she could reply, Doc's yells could be heard across deck, screaming her name and running like hellhounds chased him.

"I apologize, Captain — Emma—" he wheezed when he stopped in front of them. Emma saw concern in his face and felt an icy hand grip her heart, squeezing her soul. Her brief happiness with Killian evaporated and dread took its place.

"Speak up, Doc — what is it?" Killian interrupted impatiently.

However, Doc looked directly at Emma, acknowledging her unspoken question. "It's Miss Diane — she's bleeding."


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Emma reached Killian's cabin, her heart was beating too loudly against her ears, refuting all other noise. Pushing her way through the entrance, she raced to the bed, sitting down as carefully as possible. Diane was lying motionless under the blankets, and her face was deathly white. The only sign she was still alive was the steady rise and fall of her chest.

After touching Diane's forehead with the palm of her hand, Emma went to fetch a water pitcher and its basin from the nearby washstand to the bedside table. After she poured fresh water, she searched frantically for a thick cloth, only to be startled by the sight of an extended hand offering one. Doc's hand. She hadn't even heard him come in.

He waited in silence as Emma soaked it thoroughly and then applied the compress evenly to Diane's face and neck, resting it at last on her forehead.

"How did it happen?" Emma's voice sounded as desperate and sad as she felt — there wasn't any point of hiding it.

Doc cleared his throat and put his hands in his pockets. "I was escorting her back to the captain's cabin after our stroll on deck, but when I was about to leave, she said she felt dizzy and leaned against the doorframe. She started coughing violently, and before I realized what had happened, she collapsed. I carried her to the bed, but it wasn't until I loosened her hands, which were curled into fists, that I saw the handkerchief — the one I had given her — that she had used to cover her mouth. It was stained with fresh blood. She hasn't regained consciousness yet — a very negative indicator — and her symptoms don't point to a case of consumption. Forgive me, but now would be a good time to enlighten me about Diane's medical history."

Emma closed her eyes and sighed deeply, her ears registering the thud of another set of boots, their owner entering the cabin but pausing in the doorway. She leaned in to take Diane's hand in her own, kissing it softly and caressing Diane's cheek with her other hand before standing to face the doctor.

Emma covered her own face with her hands, willing her fingers' massage to ease the tension building in her temples. Telling this part of their story, however condensed, was going to be more strenuous than she had bargained for.

"Diane has been physically unwell for the past six months. She kept telling me she was fine, despite having no appetite...but she was weakening by the day, and when she started coughing, I took her to a doctor. He said her lungs sounded healthy." Emma didn't dare to look at Doc or Killian, who had remained silent throughout the discussion.

"I fear she is bleeding internally, Emma," Doc hesitantly replied, "and I have no idea how to stop it because I can't pinpoint its source. If this were an external wound, I would apply pressure to it; though most internal wounds heal on their own, Diane's constitution does not appear to be strong enough to handle that. As you said, she is in a state of lethargy and she eats very little. I want to give you hope, but…I don't know if I can. Her condition is stable temporarily, but I'll back to check on her periodically — and of course, inform me the moment she awakens."

He sighed apologetically and turned on his heel, the echo of his footsteps fading once he crossed the threshold. Emma slowly turned around to see Killian staring at her with concern, his eyes seeking as always. Hoping that he could see what she couldn't ask, she nodded; he acknowledged the gesture by grasping the doorknob and showing himself out.

Walking to the open crystal window on the wall across from the bed, she rested her arms on the windowpane as she stared at the swishing water below, waiting for her friend to open her eyes. Everything in her life became a nightmare...and this was undoubtedly a nightmare. The last days had been a nice dream, but naturally, they were also too good to be true. Once upon a time, Diane was one of the most radiant and determined people Emma had ever met...

* * *

" _I've never met a thief before," trilled an unknown female voice at her left._

_Shocked, Emma turned abruptly and crashed into a masked figure, the impact sending them both sprawling on the ground. The alley she had been cornered into was dark, dismal, and empty. Just her luck — for the second time, another wrong route would be her undoing._

" _How long have you been following me?" Emma angrily spat, brushing herself with her hands before glancing down at the stranger._

_She was beginning to stir, her hands pressed flat against the rough surface to propel herself upwards onto the balls of her feet before she stood straight. Looking down at her dusty apparel, she scrunched her nose in disgust before checking her face with her hands, only to touch the fabric mask covering it._

" _Ever since you left the tavern — if you didn't hear me, then you're not as clever as you think you are."_

_Emma felt her veins ignite from anger fueled by hurt and embarrassment. "And who are you to speak of brains when you chose to wander around this city in the dead of night, knowing of the many dangers that face unchaperoned women such as yourself?" she retorted, staring hard._

_The girl — her height challenged the idea that she was an adult — snorted, still looking down at her clothes. "You sound like my mother — I do what I please, just as you do what you want."_

" _Want — do you think I_ want _to be stealing other people's money?" Emma growled in frustration, subconsciously curling her hands into fists. "This life," she indicated her pouch, "is hell. If there was another way, I'd take it in an instant."_

_The girl finally peered at her, her lips tightening into a thin line of disapproval. "You have the courage to steal, but you don't have the will to go after what you really want? There's a thin line between foolishness and bravery."_

" _And_ you _are such an expert at survival,_ Your Highness _? What do you know of bravery? Your actions tonight sound like those of a fool!"_

 _When the girl's mouth opened slightly in surprise, Emma continued shamelessly, leaning forward until her face was directly opposite that of the spoiled brat who dared to judge_ her _._

" _Your clothes are worthy of a noblewoman — and I'd wager you've never had to worry about anything your whole life. Beggars are a second cause to your kind, aren't they? You prey off the misery and extortion of the poor to feed your own pockets, and then you ridicule them. So don't even begin to preach about morality to me. You're doing what they all do — pretend to scorn the lower classes by day and then disguise yourself by night so you can escape the perverted notion of society you've created."_

_Emma paced toward the alley's opening, revolted by the whole twisted argument. As she slid by her unwelcome interrogator, something compelled her to look back._

_The girl had taken off her mask, revealing the intriguing face beneath. "I'm not a princess," she whispered, sounding defeated, "and my life isn't without hardship. I'm trying to escape it all, to leave it behind. I've never had a friend, and I've never been free. You were right — I've lacked for nothing since I was born, but my choices have been bartered in return." She was now staring directly at Emma, her gaze unwavering._

_"I walk the city at night because I want to be free, to see things for myself, and my 'disguise' is for my own protection and to evade my parents."_

_Emma pursed her lips and tilted her head sideways before crossing her arms against her chest, a pose developed out of long habit during confrontations. "That still doesn't explain why you were stalking_ me _."_

_In reply, the girl offered a cheeky grin displaying her pearl-white teeth, shrugging her shoulders offhandedly. "You seemed like an interesting character. Besides, there aren't many thieves, let alone women thieves, who could have pulled off what you just did and gotten away with it. I thought — maybe, out of all the people I've met so far, you were someone worth knowing."_

* * *

"Emma? Emma?"

In an instant she was by Diane, consoling her. "Shhh...I'm here, Diane. Try not to move too much," Emma soothed.

Diane's eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, they shone again. Then the light faded, and tears ran down her cheeks, soaking her chemise. "I thought...I'd see him here too. He was there...we were there...and I was so glad."

Emma believed that she couldn't be any more miserable than she already was, but those words proved her wrong. She took Diane's hands in hers and looked at the wall behind the headboard of the bed, pleading silently for mercy as her best friend sobbed violently into the pillows.

When the man who stole Diane's love left her, she was more than devastated. She was crushed by his rejection, her abandonment, his deceit, her heartache. It was too much at once, feeling her girlish dreams turn into womanly cynicism. And Diane was never the same afterwards. If she became ill from anything, it was because her soul had been shattered, never to be whole again. She had withdrawn into herself.

At times, Emma had wanted to shake Diane, to tell her to get over some stupid fool who wasn't worth her worry and regret. Mostly, she had to take her friend into her arms and rock her to sleep, whispering words of hope and the possibility of future happiness. That maybe someday, she'd be reunited with him and live out a fairytale of an existence forever.

But it hadn't worked out that way yet, and in all hindsight, it couldn't have. In all respect to her judgment, Diane had chosen poorly, and to stay with such a miscreant would have ensured her misery and cost her more suffering  _—_ or so Emma repeated to her frequently...as well as to herself. She couldn't decide what was worse:  _not_  wanting her friend to be with the person who had made her so happy, or even thinking of  _wanting_  her to be with a man capable of such cruelty.

Suddenly, the door to the cabin opened, the voices of Doc and Killian filtering inside. They stopped upon seeing the scene before them. Emma couldn't bear to look at either of them —she was trying hard to dispel the urge to cry, but the gaping wound inside was threatening to tear loose from its constraints and overwhelm her with despair.

She only half-watched as Doc approached and then examined Diane. She half-heard when he asked Killian for water and then made a tincture for Diane that he induced her to drink. All motion was a blur, a muddled watercolor picture with obscured outlines and no clarity. Someone called her name gently, but she didn't listen. The only thing she remembered after it was over was the feel of a roughened hand pulling her up from her seat and taking her away from all the pain in that room.

* * *

"Lass...Emma..." Killian leaned over to caress her cheek, his fingertips willing her to respond. He had been careful not to touch her for the past week, knowing she didn't like anyone getting close to her without her permission — but this was an exception.

At first, he had been amused at her request to know more about his ship, but then he began to rely on her curiosity, wishing for every morning to start with her greetings and abundant questions. How was he going to part with his vibrant, stubborn, exasperating Emma?  _His_. Killian furrowed his brow, scowling. Damn it. He had formed an undeniable attachment to this wisp of a girl he barely knew.

Doc had declared he would keep Diane company throughout the night, quietly suggesting to Killian that he find accommodations for Emma and himself elsewhere on the ship. Even though Diane was now sedated, there would be no rest for them in his quarters. So Killian had gone to the one solace that would always be there for him: the ocean.

"What are we going to do when we reach Tortuga?" Emma whispered, still not looking at him.

Wanting to take her mind off the dismal future, Killian tried to brush away her anxiety. "Why worry about that? We're not there yet."

"But we will be — soon. And with Diane being in this state..." her voice trailed off, not completing that thought. "I wouldn't be able to work  _and_  take care of her," she stated.

Killian stopped reclining against the railing and tentatively placed his hands on her shoulders, making her face him. "You could always stay here," he grinned, enjoying their current positions. His body was closer to hers now than it had been since the day they met.

Emma's eyes filled with an emotion he didn't recognize in the darkness, her face tilted downwards. "You know that wouldn't work," she finally replied, twisting out of his grasp and walking past him. Again, he snagged her hand with his own, refusing to let her leave.

"Confound it, lass — I didn't mean it that way. Do you think so little of me?" he pouted. Her defenses were strong — too strong — and presently, they were hindering her judgment of him. Again.

Glancing upwards, she paused before drawing near him, a movement which caused his sharp intake of breath. Then she did the unexpected by wrapping her arms around him and leaning her head against his chest, hugging him tightly. Killian grew very warm, almost feverish, and for a moment he doubted whether he should return the gesture — if she would want him to. Eventually, his own arms surrounded Emma's waist, anchoring her to him.

"You know how much I think of you, Killian," she murmured. Killian smirked down at her, catching her sight, and his grin grew wider when she blushed, realizing the implications of what she had said. "No, I meant...you've been very good...for a pirate...and...you've taken the time to teach me..." she added, desperately trying to alter her wording.

Smiling, Killian stroked her hair softly with one hand. "It's alright, darling — no need for explanations about your speechlessness concerning me. I've seen it before."

Emma swatted his chest with the palm of her hand, which made Killian chuckle. "You seem to have a  _talent_  for ruining serious moments."

"Only the best pirates do, darling."

She gazed up at him. "You're trying to make me feel better, aren't you?"

"Only being a gentleman and helping a lady in distress," he winked. Emma smiled, the first smile he had seen from her since their rope lesson, and when she lowered her head back to his chest, snuggling more deeply, he could sense another smile forming on his own lips.

He hadn't felt this... _light_  in years. It was as if all burdens from the past were gone, fleeting phantoms that could never reach him again.

"Do you know what it's like to be alone?" she asked so quietly that he almost didn't hear the words.

Killian unknowingly tightened his hold on Emma, images flooding his memory. "All too well, love," he whispered, resting his cheek on the top of her head. "You have the look of someone who's been left alone, someone's who's been unwanted. You feel the need to be cared for, but no one comes for you. You want to forget about the pain that enters you against your will when you see others content, but it won't leave..."

* * *

_"Killian, spin me around!"_

_A small golden-haired girl leaped into his arms, grinning as she flung her hands around his neck. She giggled when he complied with her demand and twirled around the hall until they were both dizzy and laughing. A familiar shadow fell across their feet._

_"We do not have time for this childish nonsense — we are due to be at the new exhibit in less than an hour, and then I have business to complete at the docks." A chill rippled through the air at the dark tone of the new voice, both disparaging and reckless at once._

_Killian glared defiantly at the intruder, but in the end he lowered his gaze first, not wanting to cause another argument in front of his sister. Kissing her cheek, he gently put her on the ground and took her hand in his._

_"We were already prepared to go, Father, but Darlene wanted to go to the gardens today and see the flowerbeds inst—"_

_"Your duty is to go where I tell you, son," he icily hissed. "Speaking of which, it was high time you grew up from your second childhood and be a man — go to Oxford, study to be a lawyer—"_

_"We discussed this before — I do not want that life!" Killian interrupted, raising his voice. Noticing how Darlene was dancing around his shoes, he swallowed hard, trying to speak calmly. "I explained why I cannot."_

_Stiffening, he nodded and made his way to the door, indicating that they should do the same. Darlene raced ahead through the entrance, but when Killian stepped over the threshold, he felt his father pull him harshly back to his side and whisper in his ear._

_"This_ discussion _is far from over."_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Doc's faceclaim is James Franco; he seemed to fit the role. And Diane looks like a teenage Rooney Mara - she's a good fit.

Dreamless sleep was hard to come by. But when it came, Emma savored the emptiness of the void and how it pulled her under, sweeping away her insecurities and her memories. Dreams were a risk, but nothingness was simply nothing. You were devoured by a sense of forgetfulness and nonexistence, and the irresponsibility of that restful state was too strong to resist.

Reluctantly agreeing with her mind that it was time to part with that strange, seductive escape the night would bring to her, she forced her eyes open and was surprised to see Diane next to her.

Had it all been a dream ― Killian rocking her slowly in his embrace while humming in tune with the sea's rhythm? The mixed scent from the pillow ―  _his_  scent ― right by her nose as he held her close. His pendants brushing against her neck, his hands entangled in her hair... Captivated by the rapid heartbeat and warm skin under her ear, she must have drifted off quickly, whereupon he had carried her back to his cabin and had obviously dismissed Doc.

In all her life, no one had ever done that for her. But Killian had ― a pirate who was becoming more of a mystery every day ― and now Emma was more confused than before about who he really was.

Sitting forward, she noticed she was still fully dressed except for her stockings and boots, which were, thankfully, standing by the coat rack near the door. Carefully extricating herself from the tussled sheets, she stepped barefoot on the cool wooden floor, gasping softly at the contact. After peering at the piece of sky revealed by the open window, she assumed it was just before the dawn. So much for a full night's sleep after all the chaos of yesterday.

Breathing in deeply the salty air that had crept into the room by way of a rising breeze, Emma resolved to acquire a change of garments and put on her boots as soon as possible. Even now, the possibility of Killian having women's undergarments in his cabinet was both a hopeful and embarrassing one to consider.

However, after searching as quietly as possible through the plethora of dresses, Emma admitted to herself that most of the females Killian had kept company with were certainly not the breeches-and-shirt variety. To her relief, there were an assortment of chemises, drawers, and shifts buried at the bottom of the wardrobe, but unfortunately, she would have to wear a dress. And it seemed Diane had chosen the last modest one in the set... Sighing deeply, Emma picked one that looked half-decent, hefted all the clothes in her arms to avoid dropping them on the floor, and paraded over to the door, where her only shoes were waiting.

If she hadn't lowered her gaze, she would have stumbled right over the figure lying across her path. Killian looked terribly uncomfortable on his impromptu bed, using his arms as a pillow for his head and moving restlessly from side to side in his half-sleepy state. Emma tried not to stare at the sight of his upper torso ― which was bare thanks to the gray blankets tossed aside by his erratic turns ― by recanting what she was supposed to do.  _Boots. Door._

When she attempted to move past him, she had a better glimpse at his face. Emma felt herself smile ― for once, Killian looked peaceful and unhindered, his handsome features relaxed and remarkably boyish. Oddly enough, during all these weeks she had been on his ship ― time mostly spent inside his cabin ― she had never awakened before the captain himself.

Easing around him, she reached across Diane to grab an unused pillow, trying to adeptly slip it under Killian's head but accidentally touching his hair, ruffled and askew, with her fingers. Most men these days favored wigs over short hair or simple grew their hair long, she mused, but he liked his thick locks short. It probably made washing easier.

When he suddenly grinned, eagerly wrapping his hands around his new headrest, Emma almost ran in fright, worrying he would open his eyes as well. Only after she was certain he was still asleep, she cautiously edged back to his side, lightly lifting his treacherous covers and gently pulling them upwards until they reached his neck. She wouldn't hear the end of it if he caught her fussing over him like this.

Now that that problem was solved, there was the question of how she was going to change her attire in view of Killian's proximity. For all the unusual items the captain had in his chambers, a familiar one, like a changing screen, wasn't among them. Emma shook her head, biting her lip in annoyance. Of course not. Glancing back at the bed, she half-grinned. Then again...who said she needed one?

* * *

The last image Killian imagined he'd see when he opened his eyes in the morning was Emma sitting by Diane's side ― in a  _dress_. It was a sinful crimson from the waist down, topped by a striking black corset that laced in front and was designed to purposely give certain womanly attributes additional support. He smirked at her choice from his collection, noting how exceptional she made the gown look. Removing those other blouses and breeches and ordering them to be washed was proving to be a very insightful decision on his part.

Rising to his feet in one swift movement, he stretched his limbs, deliberately lengthening the action by adjusting his leather pants.

"Hello, beautiful."

Emma almost jumped from her chair, angling her head to peek at him and then clearly regretting it when she instantly snapped her gaze back to her friend. "Good morning."

"Something bothering you, darling?" Killian grinned mischievously. "By the way, I  _love_  your new apparel ― it complements you  _very_  well."

Emma's shoulders visibly stiffened, her face still directed forward. "I believe we are both entitled to some privacy,  _Captain_ ," she replied.

Tempting Emma with a verbal spar was always enjoyable, but he always liked to have the upper hand. "Privacy indeed. First you ignore my compliments on your appearance, then you try to insult me by misusing my title." Killian tsked at her, shaking his head in mock disapproval as he searched for his attire around the room. "What a way to start the morning," he sighed dramatically.

It worked. Emma finally dared to stare at him, a smirk growing on her lips when she saw him don the same leather vest and overcoat he always wore, pulling on his boots to complete his signature black hue.

"You're misreading my words, Killian," she huffed in an exasperated tone. "And speaking of misinterpretation, don't you ever wear anything else? Your addiction to that color is making you look like you belong at a funeral and not on a pirate ship." Emma grimaced.

Sneaking behind her, he leaned down until his right cheek was almost pressed against her left, letting her sense how close his face was. "Lass, while there are times when I willingly wear  _nothing_  else," he huskily whispered into her ear, delighting in her shudder at the implication, "the rest of the time, you would have to give me that particular command... _personally_. And believe me, I wouldn't hesitate to obey it."

"Maybe you should  _handle_  only what you are capable of," she snapped back, her defenses clearly on alert.

"But I love a challenge," he continued, unaffected, "and what makes you think I'm incapable of anything?"

Moving away to stand in front of her on the other side of the bed, Killian grinned at her inarticulate state. "That aside, you can't deny that leather shows me off nicely, this style of dressing suits me," he indicated with a graceful hand, "and that I make quite the dashing figure in black. A funeral, love? That's a bit harsh ― you've truly wounded me." Hopefully, Emma would see through his histrionics, despise them, and fall right in line with his plans.

His lovely guest frowned, crossing her arms against her chest ― a sign that he had predicted her reaction correctly. She was preparing for defiance, and she wasn't going to give up the conversation until she won. "Be careful, Jones ― your ego is inflating so much so rapidly that you may burst and explode your ship in the process."

"Well then,  _Swan ―_ by all means, punish me," he dared, smirking wickedly. Emma's mouth opened slightly, her expression confused and somewhat horrified. Feeling his stance falter, Killian hastened to change the subject. This was neither the time nor the place.

He decided to gaze at Diane instead, his expression somber in an instant. "Is she any better?"

Emma bit her lip and shook her head. "I was thinking I should stay with her today ― wait until she is awake."

Killian felt himself drop out of the daze he had crept into during his observations and crash into disappointment, but he didn't let it show. Her loyalty to her friend was to be commended, not rebuked.

"Of course ― and since you will be occupied during the day, you can earn my forgiveness for your remarks tonight by having dinner with me. Just think of it, darling ― you and I by firelight, the two of us engrossed in how I can be redeemed from my sins and life of vice." Bowing slightly, Killian gave Emma one of his trademark smolders and waited. Patiently. Even though it was agonizing. She was certainly taking her time to respond.

Emma tilted her head, returning his piercing gaze with her own. Killian realized with a jolt of shock that he had never noticed the color of her eyes before ― a striking combination of blue forget-me-not petals and bright green grass. The Mediterranean was swirling there, in her irises.

"I've never had dinner with you before..." she said hesitantly, "so why are you asking me now?"

Bloody hell, his temper was getting the better of him again.

"Unfortunately..." he began, trying to keep himself calm, "your welfare and my daily schedule have been at cross purposes since you arrived." He winced inwardly at the touch of desperation in his tone.

"Emma..." Killian implored after a period of silence, going back to Diane's side of the bed and sitting down on it. "This may be the last opportunity I have to spend time with you...before you―before we land at Tortuga. So will you do this humble pirate the honor of spending an evening in your company?" He gently took one of her hands in his and caressed it with his thumb.

Her features softened and a small smile lit her face, returning his gesture by squeezing his hand. "With  _me_?" A hint of hurt flickered in her eyes, making Killian wonder what had happened in her past that she disbelieved so ardently in her self-worth.

He shifted closer to her, willing her to believe. "Yes. After all, we are friends. Aren't we, lass?" he half-smiled, giving her a sideway glance to see her nodding in reply.

"Emma," he emphasized earnestly, "I would never lie to you. A man would have to be a fool to not want to be by your side." He raised her hand to his lips, pleased by her answering blush.

"All right, I'll join you for dinner ― but only as long as Doc and Diane can come as well," she finally agreed, smiling teasingly as she withdrew her hand from his grasp.

"Splendid!" He sprung up from the bed, marching triumphantly to the door. Unable to resist, he half-turned and smirked. "And of course, don't forget to wear the dress. Unless you'd prefer otherwise." He raised a brow suggestively and spun on his heels as he left, closing the entrance of his cabin before he could hear Emma's answer.

As Killian flew up the steps to enter the upper deck into scorching sun and racing wind, he hurried to take charge of his lax crew, reminding himself that he would survive the afternoon on the thought of a certain lady in red ― a vision, who was awaiting his return.

* * *

_Emma carefully entered the mansion, holding her breath. Someone like her walking through a marvelous house like this...no wonder she felt like she was walking on eggshells._

" _Come on, Emma!" Diane whispered, urging her on by waving her hands frantically._

_Grinning at her newfound friend's enthusiasm, Emma ran over to her side and willingly took her hand, letting Diane pull her through the countless gilded rooms and colorful hallways until they reached her chambers after bypassing numerous servants._

" _This is my room," she introduce, quickly closing the door behind them._

_Emma's jaw dropped open in surprise, stunned again by the luxurious decor. A four-poster bed covered by navy velvet curtains stood proudly in the center, while a mahogany wardrobe and dresser flanked the large window facing a view of the gardens. Thick rugs covered an oaken floor ― and if her memory served her correctly from passing by the flower woman's stand so many times at market, one of the walls was adorned by a very detailed painting of iris, tulips, and scarlet poppies in the middle of of a floral centerpiece._

_While the flowers were drawn realistically, Emma thought the artist's use of darkened colors made his bright subjects gloomy and faded. Just like this house ― so much light and warmth from the arched glass windows in almost all of its exterior walls, but too much indifference and severe frigidity reflecting from its occupants. No wonder Diane was suffocating inside._

_Going to sit on the bed, Emma smiled to herself as she tested the soft comforters and cushioning underneath by gently bouncing up and down. Goose feathers couldn't compare to hard floors._

_Diane had taken a seat by her dresser, staring at her sad reflection in the large oval mirror facing her. Grabbing a brush placed next to dozens of elaborate hair ornaments and cosmetics, all aligned in order from height to size, she started to brush her long hair, even strokes straightening wayward curls. Emma was certain she had never seen any girl looking like Diane ― an opal offset by onyx, pinpoints of turquoise and rubies in the center. But as with many fine jewels, she was kept on display behind glass, to be admired and recognized but never loved._

" _All this, and they are never home. They are always at balls and galas and parties, too busy with their social gatherings to care about me," Diane suddenly commented. Lowering the brush and placing it back on the dresser with a shaky hand, she turned to Emma._

" _It's been like this since I was a child ― I used to mention to my mother how we never spent enough time together, so she started dragging me to her friends' tea parties, where I was bored to tears with their bitter gossip. On my fifteenth birthday, my father held a ball for me ― but he never came, sending his butler to tell me he couldn't make it because he had urgent business at the bank." Her voice cracked, two tears spilling from her eyes._

" _I was dressed up in satin and lace, surrounded by a hundred people who knew less about me than the merchants I visit daily ― and when my mother left my side to go talk with the matrons, I burst into tears and was the laughingstock of my own party. When I was younger, I'd be with my governess all the time, barely seeing either of my parents for weeks. And now...they want me to marry some fool's son because of some stupid alliance..." Diane covered her face with her hands, trying in vain to silence her sobs._

 _Emma walked over to her and draped an arm around her shoulder, hugging her gently. "But they're_ your _parents ― and they love you. They must love you, even though they ignore you. They're fortunate to have you, and you them."_

" _They don't know anything about love, Emma ― all that matters to them is money and power and people ― all people except me." When Emma looked bemused, Diane squeezed her hand, sighing deeply while she wiped away any remaining wetness from her cheeks and composed her rapid breathing._

" _We're both cursed, it seems ― you to yearn for the parents you never had, and me to despise the ones that I was given. But never mind that...if I recall, we have an adventure to plan!" She tried to smile cheerfully, but Emma noticed how desperately she was hiding her pain._

" _All right, Diane," she replied, deeming it wise not to question the change of subject, "but what did you have in mind?"_

_A sly smile lit up her perfect features, transforming into a smirk as her idea took hold of her expression. "You're going to love it."_

* * *

When Doc knocked, Emma shushed Diane's final protests and hurried to open the door. He thanked her as he stepped inside, pausing to look at them. This action caused Killian, who was standing behind him, to run right into the closing door and hit his face against it, his repeated curses resonating afterwards and their vehemence making Emma chuckle. As usual, Doc was in his simple attire, but Killian had removed his leather vest to replace it with a dark red one. She raised a brow, intrigued. Had he listened to her admonition and, in addition, dressed to match her?

Diane was still in her calico dress, but her hair had been washed and pinned to her head in an intricate arrangement, accenting her slender, delicate cheekbones. Emma had had a hard time washing her own hair by herself, as Diane's hands were too weak to hold the water pitcher, but she still had managed and dried it out into a radiant fan of gold that outlined her exposed neck and shoulders.

Doc hastened to escort Diane to the compact table with four chairs that had been brought to the cabin earlier on, supporting her with both arms. Killian, on the other hand, offered Emma only one arm with an upturned grin after staring at her down from head to toe.

"I can walk a few paces by myself, Killian," she declined, shaking her head at his insolence and strutting to a chair in mock defiance.

He gave her an annoyed stare while he followed. "You know, there are things that are more pleasant to do together than alone, lass."

"And prancing to a table a few feet away is one of them?" Emma teased, leaning backward slightly. It didn't escape her notice that they were somehow sitting next to each other.

Killian snorted derisively, not bothering to argue the point further. He had looked forward to this too much to ruin it with a few badly placed words.

Clearing his throat, he gestured to the man standing outside the still open door to come in. He was carrying a large tray of soup, bread, and what seemed to be a tin plate of butter.

"This is our cook, Soupy. As his name indicates, he excels mostly in stews and soups that get me and the crew through the day ― and tonight, he had prepared the last of the chicken stew for us as well as a special dessert. I apologize for our fare, but we are very short on rations. We should be in Tortuga by tomorrow," Killian explained.

Soupy grunted in appreciation while he placed his baggage on the table before going to the captain's cabinet and pulling out four place settings. Emma watched as the laconic man meticulously laid bowls and spoons in front of all of them, curious about his history while he strategically poured soup for each of them without any spillage. Had he been a butler in a rich household before he became a cook for the  _Jolly Roger_?

After dismissing Soupy with a curt nod, Killian smiled when the door closed. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, let us feast."

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

"So, Doc ― how did you meet the Captain?" Emma asked, languorously sipping from her glass of red wine. The dinner had been truly simple, but she liked it that way ― and she hadn't enjoyed one so much for a long time. She didn't know how late it was, but she was confident they had sat late into the night, not content to let it end.

Killian was making her laugh with his stories about past exploits, Doc interrupting him frequently to add his own amusing insight. It was plain to see that they were good friends despite their differences. Even Diane grinned when they recalled how the crew unanimously refused to willingly drink lemon juice in their water during a severe bout of scurvy, forcing Killian and Doc to have Soupy juice a whole sack of lemons and secretly pour all of it into the ship's entire drinking water supply. They had a very hard time keeping a straight face when all the men had the same sour expression day after day during the hourly distribution of their water rations, Doc always reminding them that they should be glad they still had most of their teeth.

Right now, Doc was sharing a very pointed look with Killian, whose mischievous smirk was widening from recognition.

"Oh, the usual... He advertised in Tortuga, the word spread about, I signed up, and he hired me because I was the best-looking and made the ladies come a-calling," Doc jokingly answered, glancing at Diane with a flirtatious grin. Emma smiled to herself ― he certainly liked her friend more than a doctor does a patient.

"Bloody hell, I didn't need competition, mate," Killian snorted, crossing his arms, "I needed a  _doctor_ , and a good one. If I remember correctly, you nearly  _collided_  into my ship at a different port after a spot of trouble with debtor's prison."

"Debtor's prison?" Diane repeated, looking from Killian to Doc.

He chuckled uneasily, loosening his necktie. "Indeed...as our  _good captain_  mentioned, my first encounter with the  _Jolly Roger_  was during quite a rough chase." Leaning back in his chair, he swallowed the rest of his wine before continuing.

"My parents left me some inheritance...but when I finished school in London and became a novice physician, I was completely penniless ― so the first thing I did was search for work at reputable establishments. However, my lack of experience and connections led to visiting insane asylums and orphanages for pitiful wages, living from day to day. I was working in dreadful conditions from morning until night, and I'd come back to my miserable flat exhausted. Strange thing was, I wanted to go back the next day, help the wretched beings in those places with no one to care for them. Most of the patients I looked after were severely malnourished, abused, and unkempt, so it wasn't a wonder they were ill most of the time. In the insane asylum, I met women, men, and even children who were as sane as you and I, chained to walls and beds because their relatives had conveniently bought some doctor's false testimony. Vermin heavily infested the orphanages, and the children there...many of them were skin and bones, barely alive for my examinations."

Doc cleared his throat, tightening his grip on the empty glass and turning his gaze to the wall as Diane watched him with silent sympathy. Killian's teasing mood had evaporated in light of his friend's recollections; he was obviously brooding. Sighing, Emma closed her eyes. She knew only too well how true Doc's observations were...how everything about her experiences in the orphanage had scarred her past ― wounds that had never, ever healed...

"Are you all right, love?" Killian had leaned next to her, his hand softly covering hers on the table. His blue eyes, always so mirthful and rebellious and cool like the sea, were fixed on her face. But now they were steady...caring...and so warm. Too warm.

"I'm fine," she said stiffly before pulling her hand away, not wanting him to see how touched she was.  _Touched_...the intimate contact between their joined hands had made her heart race. Emma felt guilty on seeing hurt replace the warmth when he drew away from her as well to straighten his posture.

"Doc?" Diane timidly broke the tense silence, unconsciously resting her hand on Doc's arm. Doc reanimated at the friendly touch, jerking up in his seat as if waking from a deep sleep.

"I apologize, ladies...I must have drifted off in thought there. Where was I?"

"You were about to tell them," Killian inserted with a sly smile, all melancholy forgotten, "how you charmed your way into some comely matron's patronage."

Doc glared at him. "She was old enough to be my  _grandmother_ , Killian ― and she only left me money because I helped reunite her with her missing daughter."

Emma saw the confusion she felt mirrored on Diane's face, which was precisely when Doc resumed his narrative once more after shaking his head in frustration at the captain.

"One of the women I attended in the asylum pulled out a faded portrait, no bigger than the palm of her hand, and begged me to find her mother and bring her. She was a pretty girl, and something in her face moved me...so I kept the picture, pretty confident that the odds of me meeting ― let alone recognizing ― a person who looked like that tiny drawing were minimal.

"But," he accentuated, motioning with his hand, "it happened. An older woman doing charity work at the orphanage crossed my path and funnily enough, I felt like I had seen her before. When I was about to leave, my work done for the day, I saw the portrait when I opened my satchel to store my pay. The result was she 'rewarding' my efforts with a clause in her will."

"Which was when you finally opened your own practice?" Emma prompted.

"Exactly. I was thrilled ― posting my placard on the window and inviting new clients into my own office was the one of the happiest days of my life. However...at the time, I considered my good fortune to be...an act of God, if you will, and I decided to respect that by visiting my old workplaces on my days of rest." Doc thrummed his fingers on the table. "Despite my enthusiasm...life didn't continue to bless me."

"Oi!" Killian protested. "You said joining my ship was the best thing to ever happen to you."

"Patience, O Captain," he smirked, rolling his eyes. "We're getting to that part."

"The part where you outdo Killian when it comes to being charming?" Emma teased, earning a frown from the captain.

"Right," Doc grinned. "So, there I was, doing what I believed I was meant to do. My clients were mostly middle class workers, and I charged moderately for my services. I was doing better financially, and I even managed to buy a house. The trouble started when the young woman who I had helped ― Isolde, like the lady in the King Arthur legends ― came to visit me, and god, she lived up to her name..." His voice had become sadly wistful and full of yearning. Emma noticed Killian look away, clearly uncomfortable. This story was more interesting every minute.

Diane bit her lip, understanding in her eyes. "You fell in love with her, didn't you?"

"I did," Doc admitted softly, "but it didn't work. You see, the man who had tried so hard to get rid of her by putting her in the asylum ― her mother's brother ― didn't give up. He was furious when he found out Isolde had gotten out, and when her mother died, she was all alone. I proposed to her, offered to take care of her...and she agreed. The second happiest day of my life." He ran his fingers through his hair absentmindedly.

"He came after you," Emma guessed. "Did he get violent?"

"You're very astute, love," Killian observed before Doc could answer, "but you've yet to attain  _my_  abilities to read people." He winked, half-smiling. "Maybe another lesson I can teach you sometime?"

Emma grinned at him before looking back at Doc, who was staring at them with an expression of amusement.

"Captain, do behave ― it's my tale to tell, after all," he mockingly scolded. "Anyway...you're right, Emma, her uncle did come after us. But he was sneaky. He accused me of malpractice, he tried to take away our home, he disrupted our finances...and even though I tried to find a lawyer to help us, no one wanted to take our case because they said they couldn't link anything to him. He was very powerful in terms of position, but I learned from an inside source that he was nearly bankrupt thanks to his addiction to opium, an on-going problem that had recurred several times during his life. His savings were nearly gone. Isolde was her mother's sole beneficiary ― I was just a charitable clause ― and her uncle wanted her money. He knew his sister was old and would die soon, so he had waited, only for it to be taken away by his niece and myself."

Doc sighed wearily. "I came home one night from work to find Isolde writhing on the kitchen floor, blood pooling around her abdomen. I took her to the hospital, thinking it was a miscarriage ― that she would be all right―" his voice cracked, "―but how wrong I was. The doctors said she had lost too much blood to be replaced on account of one of her major arteries clotting and then bursting, making her hemorrhage and lose the baby so suddenly. My lovely wife and future child, brought to me by fate only to be taken away..." He paused, looking down. "When I held Isolde in my arms for the last time, she told me I was her Tristan, her knight ― and I alone had saved her..."

Emma was so absorbed in Doc's life story that she nearly toppled from her chair when Killian took over the conversation on seeing the doctor's distress.

"But Doc here, knowing it was no accident how Isolde died, set out to find the truth...and he did. She was poisoned, and he made the bastard who did it pay dearly."

"It was at a high cost to myself as well, though," Doc smiled weakly, trying to match Killian's firm tone but failing. "And it took all the money I had left in the world to do so. These days, when you can't afford to pay your bills, you choose between debtor's prison or being shipped off to the New World."

"And you chose the former because you thought you had nothing to live for anymore," Diane whispered, a shadow of grief clouding her features.

"Well, it was a negligent decision on my part," he scoffed, "and sooner or later, I was itching to escape. I was sentenced to five years, but after one year I couldn't stand confinement. To make a long story short, I was caught and finally shipped to the colonies to work on a plantation...but Barbados was renovating its main ports after some pirates had pillaged the harbor, and I was sent there instead to help repair it. And that's where I met Captain Jones here."

"Right you are, lad," Killian replied impudently, "and I graciously took you on, even though you had nearly fifty soldiers running after you as you made your way to my girl."

"It was the nearest ship in sight, and you were setting sail ― of course I would leap onto yours first!" Doc defended, groaning when the captain chuckled.

"What a sight you were, all in rags and bony as a skeleton, clamoring for me to let you stay... Good thing you were the finest physician I'd seen in years, or I'd have thrown you overboard at the nearest port," Killian laughed cheekily.

"And still the finest," Doc admonished with mock hurt, waving a finger.

"Indeed," he agreed, smiling as he crossed his legs and folded his hands on one knee.

Emma was stunned by their renewed camaraderie, marveling on how quickly the conversation had changed from dry humor into serious contemplation and then back to classic banter. Doc had carefully omitted how he had exacted revenge against Isolde's murderer, but in all honesty, she didn't need to know. It wouldn't change the empathy she felt for this kind man who had attended to Diane so tenderly.

"And what about your backstory, Killian?" Emma challenged in a taunting voice.

He gave her a smoldering glance in return. "A bloody fantastic tale for another night, milady. And I'm sure your own story is also quite remarkable."

Emma was distracted from uttering a good retort when Doc covered his yawn with one hand, reaching into the pocket of his vest with his other to look at his watch. "And I believe that's my cue to leave you now, as the night is growing old rapidly. Thank you, Captain, for your invitation, and ladies, it was pleasure to be in your company. If you don't mind, Killian, I'll just take the dishes to the kitchen myself and leave them for Soupy so the poor man doesn't have to wake up to clean this."

He stood straight, nodding to Emma before turning to Diane and gently taking her hand in his. After kissing it, he then carefully scooped the bowls, silverware, and containers into his arms before heading to door.

"Sleep well, John," Diane's voice pleaded before he exited, making him stop momentarily to stare back at her. His expression had visibly softened.

"And you as well, Diane," he smiled faintly, closing the door behind him.

Emma looked as surprised as Killian at Diane's familiar use of the doctor's Christian name. When he peeked at her for an explanation, Emma simply shrugged. He called her by her first name and she him, so why couldn't Diane do the same with Doc? Killian had said himself that they were all friends.

Rising from her chair, Emma crossed her arms and raised a brow.

"Yes, lass?" Killian responded, mimicking her actions.

"As Doc pointed out, it's late and we need to go to sleep ― so if you don't mind..."

"I'll stand guard and personally watch over your virtue ― excellent idea," he suggested eagerly, smirking.

Emma rolled her eyes ― she'd had enough of his flirting for one day. "I meant you should be a gentleman and leave the room so Diane and I can change our attire."

Killian's smirk only increased. "I'm always a gentleman, my dear Emma, but you haven't told me yet what you plan to change into. As I'm sure you've noticed," he added conspiratorially, leaning in closer to her, "I don't happen to have any ladies' nightclothes in my wardrobe."

"You're disgusting," Emma snapped, feeling embarrassed. True, she had not considered that at all, but it was rude of Killian to make such an improper remark in front of both of them.

"No, I'm being practical, darling. Here's what we'll do: I'll lend you two of my shirts―" he talked over her immediate protest, "―and since they'll be too large for you in any case, you will have yourself nightgowns for the time being. Just out of curiosity, what have you been using so far?"

"That's really none of your business, Killian," she reprimanded.

"Ah, but it's my bed, so technically it  _is_  my business what goes into it, if you catch my meaning."

"We just slept in our old undergarments," Diane interjected, looking unapologetic when Emma looked at her, clearly horrified. "It's the truth!" she argued.

"And now that you have new ones, thanks to me, you want to keep them clean. Quite understandable," Killian mused. "Can I keep your old ones?"

Emma was trying hard not to slap him. "You are perverse, Killian," she growled.

"No, you're judging me wrongly again, Emma," he corrected. "You will be keeping what you have taken ― far be it from me to have two ladies walking anywhere without clothes on, except in my room ― so I need to replace what is missing."

She tilted upward on her tiptoes until her face was inches from his. "Let's get this straight right now: under no circumstances are you keeping or even touching anything that belongs to me, especially not those garments," she hissed. " _Savvy_ , Captain?"

Killian dared to get even closer until his lips were almost brushing hers. "You're very fiery tonight, Emma ― it must be the wine... _and_  that glorious dress you're still wearing..."

Her breath caught in her throat. What was she doing, provoking him like this? He took everything she said as a reason to try to surpass her. It wasn't worth the effort to be right.

She moved away until she reached Diane's side. Killian looked almost disappointed by the distance, but he was still anticipating her answer.

"We'll take the shirts for tonight, but our clothes stay ours," Emma yielded. Killian nodded in acquiescence, reaching his cabinet to pull out two large black shirts and placed them elegantly on the bed.

"I'll be right outside the door ― I'll knock when I think sufficient time has passed."

Diane grinned at Emma after he had left. "You like him."

She sputtered helplessly, eventually giving up on an audible reply. Diane shrugged nonchalantly after several moments of silence, moving around the room to blow out some of the lit candles.

Emma was appalled at her friend's accurate deduction, but it  _was_  true. Despite his confusing manners and outrageous pirate behavior, Killian was most entertaining and exciting person she had ever met. And there probably wasn't anyone else like him in the whole world.

* * *

By the time Killian knocked, there was no noise whatsoever echoing from the other side of the door. Entering his darkened chambers slowly, he saw Emma and Diane wrapped in his bedsheets, both sound asleep.

Smiling, he started to undress himself, pausing when he passed by Emma. She was smiling, and she appeared to be content in her dreamworld. Her rosy lips were tempting him, but he knew she would rather hit him than kiss him even when she was unconscious ― and that was a mere understatement of her feelings. Even though she had happily concurred that they were friends...

Shaking his head at that small igniting spark of hope, he walked bare-chested to the window, opening it widely to let in the cool night air. Dinner had ended differently than he had expected, what with Doc's confession and all its drama ― but then again, what fun was there in the predictable?

* * *

" _I have a son, Killian," she confided. Her face blanched when he furiously grabbed her arm._

" _Why didn't you tell me from the start?" he hissed. Here he had foolishly idolized the woman he loved, and now she was revealing what she had abandoned for him. The unthinkable._

" _You knew I was married ― yet you never asked about that. I know how you feel about children..." she began to explain._

" _I understand leaving your husband ― but your child, your own flesh and blood? Milah, you have to go back to him. He needs you," Killian fumed, releasing her before walking away._

 _She spun him around, her face covered with tears. "No, I chose you ― and my son will be fine with my husband. He's loved ― Gold always loved him more than he ever loved me. I love my son, but Killian...I love_ you _more."_

_Something inside was yelling at him not to listen, to ignore her words. That letting her stay would be the worst decision he had ever made, changing his life forever._

" _I'm a pirate, Milah," he sighed. "You have seen the life I lead, the man I am. Are you sure this is what you want over raising your son yourself?"_

_She took his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his. "Absolutely," she whispered before kissing him again more deeply._

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

" _Are you sure about this?" Emma tugged her light bag tighter across her back, willing her anxiety to go away. "You know there's no going back once we embark," she added, her tone low with warning._

_Diane grinned, pulling her breeches up and tying the belt holding them on with a strong knot. "Yes. I'm ready, Emma. I'm ready to leave all this mess behind and find a new life ― find adventure."_

_Pacing before the pier, she stopped when she didn't hear Emma's footsteps preceding. Turning around, she saw her friend frozen to the spot where she stood, fear in her eyes._

" _Emma?" She reached out her hand, gesturing that she should come. "It's all right to be uncertain, but it's wrong to not try at all."_

_Emma peered down at her apparel, swishing the ends of the belt wrapped around her hips. "We will be masquerading as boys on a ship full of grown men ― and you've heard the rumors about the horrible things that can happen. Did you really think I'd be thrilled about all this?" she muttered, refusing to move._

_Diane walked back until she was face to face with her. "Emma, you agreed that both our lives needed change. You said you would give this a chance. You promised," she pleaded._

_Emma gave Diane a shrewd look, a half-smile crossing her lips. "I promised to become a pirate, not a cross-dresser."_

_Diane chuckled. "It'll only be a temporary situation ― and besides, it will be safer for us this way."_

" _And when we're found out?" she asked with a raised brow. "How safe will we be then?"_

" _Don't think about that," Diane scoffed, shaking her head. "Think about the journey ahead." She began to approach the pier again, not looking back. "Well, are you coming or not?" her voice echoed._

 _With a helpless shrug, Emma carefully re-arranged her hair under her wide-brimmed hat and pursued Diane, who was strolling confidently down the path to the_ Crusader _, the large merchant vessel docked at the end of the pier. Having short hair felt decidedly odd, Emma reflected, but Diane was right ― it was worth it. And if she was right about that, maybe they just could pass for immature adolescent boys. Maybe._

_She bumped slightly into her friend as they stood in front of a bunch of crates set up as a table. No one was here, but the captain had said they'd have to sign in before boarding and finding their cabin._

" _Ah, you're the lads who want to join us as first-time cabin boys, eh?" someone drawled. Almost jumping from shock at the sudden noise breaking across the silent harbor, Emma clung to Diane's side, not daring to speak. The owner of the voice was an old man thumping down the plank leading up to the main deck of the ship, his peg leg creating a solid rhythm as it clanked heavily against the rotting wood of the pier._

" _That's right," Diane mustered in a deep voice. "We're here to sign in, as Captain Glover directed."_

_He squinted at her before peering at Emma, reaching into his pockets with one hand as he reached for one of the crates with the other. It was all Emma could do to stop her legs from shaking when his slow turn displayed the long scabbard hanging from his belt._

_Sitting languidly down on the crate he'd chosen, he put on a pair of spectacles and stared at the piece of paper in his hand. "Davy Jones and Emmett Swanson ― that's you boys? How old are you, by the way?"_

" _Why do you need to know?" Emma inquired suspiciously, not trusting him at all._

_He gave her a reprimanding look, his reply cold and formal. "The Captain requires it, is all."_

" _How could you tell those are our names and not someone else's?" Diane interrupted._

" _Simple ― you're the only new fellas who've wanted to come aboard since our stop in Jamaica," he retorted, throwing the list into the water before holding out his hand. "And now, your room and board, if ye please."_

_Diane nodded at Emma, who withdrew a tiny purse from inside her long dark overcoat, tossing it to and fro so the coins inside could audibly clink._

_He reached for the purse, but Emma snapped it back deftly with a curled finger. "I believe," she intoned as huskily as she could, "that the Captain requires payment to be handed to him personally."_

_Groaning as he rose, the old man glared at them before inclining his head to signal they should follow as he climbed the plank onto the ship. Emma and Diane were speechless on-board ― the Crusader was a fine specimen of its kind, sturdy weathered oak balanced by gold trim and accents along the railings. Off-white sails were whipped by the growing wind, the dawn coming surely along the horizon._

" _Captain, the new boys asked to see you."_

_A tall, formidable man stared them down as he approached, his gaze intent as it raked down their forms and faces. "Welcome to my ship, gentlemen," he snickered, his tone sinister and foreboding. Chills ran down Emma's spine as she dangled the money purse in front of him, flinching when he grabbed it._

_The old man turned as if to leave, but went first to the captain and leaned in to whisper something in his ear. He waved him off afterwards and he finally left, glaring at Emma and Diane again before heading down below deck._

" _My thanks," the captain continued, his eyes gleaming at the sight of gold in his hand, rubbing together a few of the coins he'd unearthed. "Men!"_

_His yell brought forth the leers of the crew, who had paused to see what their captain would order._

" _We have two new recruits who will be joining our little party," he grinned. "Well, introduce yourselves, lads."_

_Emma swallowed hard. "I'm Emmett Swanson," she spat out, trying to control her stammering._

" _Your age?" Captain Glover asked, his tone growing bored as he picked at his nails._

" _Nearly sixteen," she reluctantly revealed, crossing her arms over her chest out of habit. Diane and she had agreed that adhering to as many true details about themselves in their revelations would help them keep up their charade for as long as possible._

" _And you?" he gestured to Diane._

" _Davy Jones and seventeen, Captain," she replied, letting some insolence seep into the way she said his title._

_His stare hardened for a moment before he looked away, Diane letting out a breath she hadn't known she held._

" _Right then ― they're the new cabin boys. Be sure to treat them kindly now," he laughed mockingly, the crew joining in, "and usher them into our family. Now, let's sail off, gents ― we've a voyage to undertake and merchandise to deliver. Raise the anchor and set the sails!"_

_His loud voice shot across the ship, reaching from the prow to the bottom of the hull as all scurried to obey. "We want that incoming tide, so get to your duties double-quick!"_

_He continued to shout out instructions, leaving Emma and Diane alone. A young man with a patch on his left eye was suddenly in front of them, a seemingly friendly smile on his face._

" _Hello, I'm Hawkeye and I'm to take you to your quarters." He motioned for them to go behind him as he descended the ramp leading to the lower deck._

" _It will be good to have younger company again ― I'm the youngest of the crew so far, excepting the last cabin boys," he said, not taking notice of the frown Emma shared with Diane._

" _What had happened to the last cabin boys?" Diane asked nonchalantly as he opened the door to one of the cabins._

_Emma wasn't surprised when Hawkeye didn't reply, his posture now stiff as he crept into the room. He was holding something back._

" _Well, here we are. Washtub's over there, your cots are here. Lucky for ya, the rest of crew doesn't want boys sleeping in the main quarters with them, so you get your own room to yourselves. Wish I were so fortunate." He sounded wistful._

" _Do we report on deck after we've settled in?" Emma was anxious to rest after waking up before midnight to make sure her belongings were securely packed in her knapsack and walking all those miles to the harbor in the dark._

" _Right you are ― only the Captain gave orders for you to leave your things here and come with me immediately. We need all extra hands in order to set sail properly."_

" _Properly?" Diane mouthed at Emma, who was trying hard to hide a laugh._

_Hawkeye watched as they put their sacks in the corner of the room and then stood straight, facing him._

" _Emmett," he indicated, "and Davy?" They nodded in unison._

" _Nice to meet you." The smile that stretched his face made Emma feel strangely relieved for the first time since they had boarded. All was not lost. Yet. She shook the hand he offered, Diane repeating the handshake._

" _Davy Jones, huh?" He breathed deeply as they climbed the stairs together. "What an interesting choice of moniker."_

" _I thought being named after a captain who was doomed to sail the seas evermore was appropriate," Diane huffed, annoyance leaking into her tone._

" _And what kind of nickname is 'Hawkeye,' anyway?" Emma added with deliberate impudence._

 _Turning to stare at both of them when they reached the main deck, he pointed at their surroundings. "Oh believe me," he answered emphatically with a bit of sarcasm, "it is highly appropriate ― and it will only become more so as you begin to bond with the_ Crusader _. 'Hawkeye' is why I'm the lookout ― me sight with one eye is better than those with two."_

_Handing them two buckets full of water and a couple of rags, he told them to scrub the deck. "Your first and foremost duty. Good luck," he finished before leaving._

" _Any parting words of advice?" Emma called out, ignoring Diane's hand violently motioning her to be quiet._

" _Only six: stay out of the captain's way," he replied, not glancing back._

* * *

Eyes snapping open, Emma shot out of the bedcovers, her heart pounding. Something wasn't right. And her instincts were rarely wrong.

She stretched her hand to touch her forehead and discovered it was clammy with sweat, her skin almost wet. But she didn't have a fever, Killian was gone, and the room wasn't on fire. In fact, it was windy inside, thanks to the open window letting in an abundant amount of sunlight.  _Sunlight?_

At the angle that light was pouring across the furniture, it must be at least midday. Emma frowned. She never woke up so late ― Diane was an early riser, and it was she who usually...

A shiver ran down her back, threatening to transform into an onslaught of terror. She turned to look at her friend, and the sight that met her eyes made her heart drop onto her stomach.

Diane wasn't breathing. Her face was deathly pale again, her eyes closed shut and her skin cold to the touch. Intoning her name, Emma grabbed her hand to feel for her pulse, but when she realized how faint it was, like the weak fluttering of a baby bird's wings, she lost control of the panic rising in her throat and attacking her blood.

Before she went into shock, she did the only reasonable thing she could think of: jumping out of the bed and mindless of her appearance, she tore open the door and ran down the corridor, yelling for Doc.

* * *

Emma paced outside the captain's cabin, her bare feet scraping against the unpolished floor. There had been no time to dress, no time to prepare, and even no chance to tell Killian. She was wrapped up in a blanket Doc had thoughtfully handed her through the door before he examined Diane. He had asked her to stay outside until he had completed his diagnosis ― a very logical request, Emma thought, considering she was ready to scream from frustration and anxiety. Diane had been fine last night, so what had triggered this...

She finally leaned her back against the wall, resting her face against her open palms. Why? Why did this have to happen? Hadn't they been through enough, especially Diane?

The sound of the door squeaking open shook Emma from her haunting worries.

"Well?" she asked as Doc carefully closed the door behind him. When she saw his face, that dreadful feeling of panic started to overwhelm her again.

"Emma..." he began hoarsely, clearing his throat before continuing. "Diane...is bleeding internally again. You didn't see it, but underneath the covers..." He looked away momentarily before attempting to directly stare at Emma.

"The sheets are soaked with blood, as is her nightgown from the waist down. She is hemorrhaging heavily―"

"Were you able to stop it like you did last time?" Emma asked, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Doc peered at her more intently, his gaze stormy. "Emma...there is no way to stop it. I..." He turned away, his expression full of regret and self-loathing. "I can't help her anymore than I could help Isolde," he whispered.

A gasp left Emma, the air sucked from her lungs in an instant. "No.  _No_..."

Doc bent his head apologetically, raising a tentative hand to squeeze her shoulder. "I used smelling salts to awaken her from her unconscious state, so you have time to―"

"No!" Emma shouted, pulling away from the gentle gesture while her hands clenched into fists. "She's  _not_  going to die ― she  _can't_! I won't allow it! You made it go away before, so do it again!" She could hear her voice tremble from the anger and grief taking hold, both trying to bend her willpower with emotional destruction.

"She's lost so much blood, Emma," Doc returned, just as loudly, "and there's no way to replace it! Don't you see her body's so weak she can hardly stay awake? I don't want her to die ― don't you believe I'd do anything to remedy this, to restore her back to health? The tincture I gave her last time won't be powerful enough to cease an internal wound of this magnitude ― my hands are tied because medicine has its limits and this time, I've certainly met mine." He sighed desperately and ran his hands through his hair before looking at her once more.

"But maybe that's the answer," Emma proposed halfheartedly, "maybe, in Tortuga, we could find someone el―"

"Even if that were true, we're not near enough to get to another physician in time...and honestly, Tortuga is quite literally a den of thieves ― do you really believe another doctor there will help her more than I could? Over the years, I have noticed that with disease and the like ― as with the sea ― there is a calm before the storm. Patients tend to recover dramatically before they...before their final relapse..." Doc's voice was agonized, cracking and barely whole.

She felt tears bathe her lips, their warmth competing with that of the blood hurrying throughout her body, its flight pulsating in time with her heart. The beats were like a warning drum, whispering of the despair and ache awaiting her inside Killian's cabin.

Roughly telling herself to stop her outburst, she compelled herself to be strong ― but that sensation of tearing inside made sure she couldn't. She had never believed that your soul could break into pieces ― wasn't it supposed to be your heart that did that? ― but right now, belief was unnecessary. She could feel hers ripping apart, causing her vision to turn into the darkest shades of black.

"How long does she have?" she cried softly, unable to hold back her misgivings any longer.

Doc's eyes were heartbreaking, filled with the pain of the present and the past. "After she awoke, she said to me...that she was only waiting...for you."

On hearing that, Emma started to sob, her chest shaking as she tried to cover her mouth with hers hands to block out the sound. Every part of her body was in denial of the truth in front of her, but it was useless. In the end, it always was useless, because she lost and the world won, snatching away from her what she held to be most precious.

"I'll go...tell the captain..." His words and underlying misery echoed along the hallway as he started to climb the stairs.

* * *

Trying to put a brave smile on her face, Emma slowly pushed the door open, slipping inside. Diane's frame was propped against the headboard of the bed, her eyes narrowed slits as she breathed shallowly.

When she sat next to her on the bed, Diane reached for her hand, enclasping it with her own. "Emma..." she murmured. The way she said her name broke Emma's resolve to stay calm and controlled.

"Don't you dare say good-bye now, Diane ― not yet! You have to fight back ― you have to hold on! Please..." she begged, tightening her grip.

Diane smiled sadly. "You know I cannot ― I'm being called to where I belong, and I'm unable to ignore it anymore. Besides, death comes to all of us eventually ― it's only a matter of when."

Her heart was now shattering, a piece of it dying together with the girl in front of her who was so young ― too young to die.

Emma bit back another sob, brushing away errant tears with her free hand. "Don't patronize me with idle sayings ― you've just given up, even though you have so much to live for―"

"You know that's not true," Diane replied quietly, looking down. "What I've been doing for the past months hasn't been living ― and ever since  _he_  left, it was never the same. This moment has been written in the pages of my life since the beginning...inevitable, I suppose..."

Shaking her head, Emma countered, "You've convinced yourself that's true, but I'm asking you to stay. Stay with me. Stay for me." Her voice broke. "Stay because we're best friends and I  _need_  you."

Diane's eyes glistened. "I'm so sorry...my dear, dear friend. What would I have done without you?"

Emma bit her lip, peering at her from underneath wet eyelashes.

"You couldn't have done without me ― not then, not now...not ever. And I wouldn't have survived without you. Diane..." she paused, swallowing hard, "...meeting you changed my life."

Not sailing away from London, not finding freedom in the sea, not gazing at a star-filled night sky and knowing where she was by just seeing constellations there. It was a stubborn, curious girl ― an adventurer who tracked her down after a major heist. The first person to tell her she was deserving. The only person who had ever cared.

A glimmer of a fading spark re-appeared in Diane's blue gaze, a small smile shining on her face. "I'll miss you, Emma..." She seemed to struggle for a moment, concentrating on a distant thought. "You'll remember your promise, won't you? Won't you?" she asked urgently, squeezing Emma's hand more tightly when she didn't answer.

After stroking the damp surface of the blanket with her other hand, marveling at its softness, Emma leaned down to kiss Diane's forehead. "Of course I will. And I promise I'll never forget it."

Diane's smile widened with relief before it contracted into a grimace of pain, a hushed groan escaping her lips. "I'm afraid, Emma," she cried, falling tears spreading across the top of her nightgown. "It hurts...it hurts so much to leave and it would hurt even more to stay..."

As she did so many times before, when the nightmares came and only her whispers would chase them away, Emma moved to hold Diane in her arms, rocking her gently as she would a restless child, not caring about the heavy sobs piercing her ears.

"Shh, I'm here..." she chanted, closing her eyes. Images flashed in her mind, one of a leather clad pirate humming as he held a tired girl in his arms... And she held her friend closer, caressing her hair.

Even though the sound of conversing voices crept through the closed door, Emma ignored them, focusing on the thunder of her heart matching Diane's. She didn't even realize how or when Killian and Doc were standing by the end of the bed, both watching her. Through a water-streaked blur, she tried to clear her line of sight, sighing when she noticed that Diane had fallen asleep.

"Diane," she pressed, gently shaking her in her embrace, "Doc's here to check on you ― but you have to be awake."

She didn't answer. She didn't so much as stir. And when the hand that had wrapped around hers, hanging onto it like a lifeline, fell listlessly to the side, Emma knew.

* * *

Later on, she remembered that was the moment her mind went numb and her heart, pounding fiercely, stopped. Defiance vanished, and hope was killed. And as she buried her face into Diane's raven hair, her cry transformed of its own accord into a deep scream that resonated throughout her soul, drowning out everything and anything as her world became a dark abyss that consumed her. Beneath the darkness, all was lost.

Even when Killian pulled her from Diane's motionless body into his warm arms, Emma refused to feel. When Doc covered Diane with the bedsheet, his hands shaking, she couldn't see.

Over and over again thrummed one truth, declaring itself in her ears, her eyes, her blood.

Life  _had_  changed. Because now, for her, it was over.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: When I said "Diane's nightgown" in chapter 6, I meant the shirts Killian lent to her and Emma for sleepwear, which would be more or less impromptu nightgowns ― just wanted to clear that up.
> 
> For all who are wondering what Diane died of, it was cancer: sudden massive hemorrhaging (when not pregnant) plus increasing fatigue and severe lack of appetite are some symptoms of the final stages. And since doctors had no idea about cancer in the 18th century, no wonder Doc was baffled.

Seeing Diane's fragile body wrapped in thick white cloth, its true outline obscured, was the final straw for Emma.

Until now, she had been in a daze, her mind barely registering what was going on around her ― but when she was faced with the image of Doc reading from the Bible for the funeral eulogy, his voice breaking during certain parts of the ceremony, something inside her snapped. Black and white turned back into color as every single event from the previous day flooded her memory, the downpour violent and downright cruel.

Diane, dying in her arms.

The reminder of a promise whispered with her last breaths.

The thought of her friend beyond her reach, perpetually irretrievable.

When Diane joined the waves below, Emma knew this was the point of no return. And it terrified her. Suddenly, many questions began to plague her, dancing around her head in a tormenting cycle.

Diane's parents needed to be informed about their daughter's death ― but considering the circumstances, that would be nearly impossible to do. And would it do any good anyway? Emma sighed deeply, shutting her eyes sharply to stop that too familiar moistening under her eyelids. Of course it would help, but the real question was  _how_  she was going to undertake that ― and succeed. Messages had a way of being traced, and a letter of condolence was the least she could write to two people who had not seen or heard from their only offspring in more than two years. And then there was the matter of telling them the whole truth or not...

Another question was the promise. To fulfill it meant surrendering to a responsibility she had never wanted or asked for, living a different future ― it had all belonged to Diane, a weight on her shoulders. But ever since they had decided to leave their pasts in London behind, they were in this together. And now that Diane was unable to carry it out the task that loomed distantly like a drifting cloud, Emma had to do it. Her friend had asked, and now she would pay the toll in her place. It was a simple choice. It was the right thing to do ― the only thing to do, and she'd be damned if she caused suffering because she was too selfish. There was no question here ― actually, accepting her "fate" was something of a relief.

Licking her dry lips, Emma glanced up to see Killian ― all in black again and dressed quite appropriately for the occasion, she thought wryly ― speaking with Doc, who was standing by the railing. He seemed to be consoling the doctor, who looked as shaken as she felt.

She turned away, biting her lip. It was easy to believe that she had been the only one affected by Diane's death, when the truth was far from that. The repercussions were clawing at her already, daring her to swat them away.

Not caring where her legs led her, Emma paced to the other side of the ship, leaning on the railing. It was the only barrier between her and the water below. She sneered at it, suddenly hating the sea. It was merciless ― it had swallowed up a corpse only moments ago and yet continued to fluctuate indifferently, not noticing or caring about anything except its own course. During the funeral, the ship had been anchored, but now it was parting the waves proudly once more, vexing them with its performance.

Speaking of paths...the most hideous, dreadful dilemma of all was right in front of her as it neared the  _Jolly Roger_. With Diane, there was a hope for the future ― they would be together...the only family Emma had ever known would be right there with her, steering her through hardship after hardship and helping her fight whatever life would challenge her with.

But now she was alone. With no money. No work. And no prospects in sight. She was soon to disembark at Tortuga, a city renown for its backward ways and scandalous inhabitants, and she didn't have any notion of what to do when she got there. She didn't know anyone there, and the only employment a woman could hope to find would be on the streets.

She was in trouble ― deeply, and up to her neck. And try as she might, no real solution seemed to be plausible. There just wasn't for a girl with no possessions and little work history.

Again, Killian took her by surprise ― as he frequently did ― when he mysteriously appeared by her side, the sound of his approaching footsteps lost in the midst of her clamorous thoughts. At first, he said nothing, simply joining her in her silent sorrows as they both gazed ahead, the thought of entering a bustling city again making Emma nauseous.

"There is nothing I could say that can ease the pain of your loss, Emma...but I still offer you my condolences all the same." His voice was quiet and hesitant, as if he was wary of what he should say. That wasn't the Killian Jones she knew. Then Emma felt his hand covering hers, the slow, gentle caresses making her cheeks flush. Ah, there he was.

She quickly withdrew her hand, ignoring the fleeting look of hurt and disappointment on his face. Pity wasn't something she wanted.

"If you'll excuse me, Captain..." Emma murmured, a desperate need to avoid him invading her senses. She couldn't deal with this ― with  _him._  It didn't matter if he said they were friends.

He grabbed her hand, pulling her back to him when she tried to leave. Emma rolled her eyes ― how many times was he going to repeat this move?

"Don't lie to yourself, Emma," he said harshly, forcing her to look at him. "The last thing you need right now is to be alone. Trust me, I know."

She ripped her hand from his hold, glaring at him. "No, you  _don't_  know ― I  _want_  to be by myself, and happily for me, now I have no choice but to be alone. If you've happened to notice, my only friend is gone," she spat, sarcasm creeping into her tone. "Why can't you just let me be?"

For the first time she had met him, Emma saw pain and anger clash in Killian's expression until they reached their peak, his eyes dark and relentless. He was truly furious.

"So you still don't trust me," he finally declared.

Exasperating pirate ― why did he have to always read her correctly? "This has nothing to do with you," Emma growled, "it has all to do with me. The only person I cared about and who cared for me is dead. Don't you understand?"

Killian rubbed his face with his hands, clearly annoyed. "I'm not going to hurt you, Emma ― can't you believe for one moment that someone else may care for you besides Diane?" His voice was husky, deep and full of meaning. "I thought  _we_  were friends as well, lass, so why do you keep pushing me away when I only want to help?"

Tears began to sting her eyes, pleading to be released. "I don't want your help, Killian!" Emma cringed when her last words burst into an unwilling sob, her chest beginning to ache. The pain was strangling her from the inside out, and she didn't know how to be free of it.

He tried to lead her into his arms, but she retreated, holding up a hand in warning. "Just leave me alone," she whispered, her feet breaking into a run. She was fleeing from the compassion he was offering, and worst of all, she couldn't explain why. She knew it was wrong to reject him...

As reality sunk in, she prayed to be anywhere but here, guilt and sorrow both trying to suffocate her at the same time.

* * *

Killian watched as she disappeared from sight, his heart demanding he go after her and his pride refusing to yield. He wanted to yell at Emma, to shake some sense into her...but he couldn't. After all, she wasn't his, and he shouldn't care as much as he did. But he was entangled in her life now, and what hurt her hurt him. Even if she was wounding herself.

"You should give her some time ― grief doesn't disappear overnight, and it certainly won't in half a day either." Doc had sidled up to him, his tone sombre.

"You think I don't know that?" Killian snapped.

Doc placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, a sad half-smile on his lips. "I know you do. But Emma doesn't. You've only been in each other's company for little more than a week ― two, if you count her bed recovery ― but you're still strangers. And in all due honesty, my friend," he confided firmly, "you can't press her in her current state to rely on you. You don't know each other that well. So preserve the steps you've taken so far, and do as she asks: give her time and space."

"But I..care." Killian peered at Doc, his voice faltering. Still, he felt better admitting it instead of suppressing it. "I care too damn much about her already, and it's only been a week.  _A week_. So what advice do you have, doctor, for crushing what every fiber of my being tells me to do? Because I can't just patrol my ship and ignore her when she's there."

"We're near Tortuga ― less than half a day's journey. She'll leave then."

"I know," Killian replied, his heart feeling heavy. "But...I don't want her to."

Doc pursed his lips, sighing. "Keep this in mind, Killian: do what's best for  _her_."

Killian smiled grimly. If only it were that easy. "I can't make any promises, Doc."

"And I'm not asking you to, Captain," Doc returned, his gaze knowing, "but you have to try."

When Killian nodded half-heartedly, Doc patted him on the back and left, his long gray coat swishing audibly with the twists and turns of the wind.

Hardening his resolve as he prepared to take his place by the helm, Killian decided Doc was right: he would try to stay out of Emma's way for as long as possible. But one thing was for certain: it was going to be bloody difficult.

* * *

"Land ho!" shouted the look-out a few hours before sunset.

Killian grinned despite himself, relieved to see Tortuga's harbor. The  _Jolly Roger_  was long overdue for a decent rest, as were his men ― and the last thing he needed on his hands was a mutiny. Looking down from the crow's nest, his gaze spanned the deck to settle on a speck of gold rushing to the prow.

Hoisting himself over the edge to descend the top mast, he climbed down the intricate rigging until he was in reach of sturdy rope leading to the main deck. His hands expertly sliding down its rough texture, Killian coasted downward until his boots firmly hit the wooden surface below.

 _Advice be damned._  After tying the ends of the rope down, he went in pursuit of his Swan.

* * *

After locking herself in Killian's quarters, Emma had let her tears bleed into the fabric of the blue comforter on his bed. It was too much...all too much...

And then she awoke, having apparently cried herself to sleep. When her eyes unwillingly opened, she felt unusually determined, her mind clear when she saw the sun close to parting with the sky for another night.

Diane was gone, and she could never bring her back. However, her promise still stood, her future still existed, and she had to do something about what was next on her agenda. She would always mourn the loss of her friend, but grief was not her priority right now ― survival was.

Crawling from the bed, Emma went to the washstand and cleansed her face, the cool water refreshing. Tying her windswept hair behind, she looked into the mirror sitting on the nightstand. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin was as white as a sheet, and even her lips were pale. Every feature appeared to be physically drained from her trials.

Well, that couldn't be helped. Pausing to adjust her wrinkled dress ― the same red and black one she had worn at Diane's last dinner ― she slipped her hand into the hem of her right boot. Extricating first a short steel dagger, strong yet light, she then yanked out a tiny leather pouch tucked away next to it. The exterior of the pouch was supposedly resistant to water ― or so the vendor had told her. Now she would find out for certain.

What had impressed her about this item in the marketplace was how the interior seemed so small and yet wasn't, self-adjusting to the reasonable size of anything placed inside. Right now, the pouch held several carefully folded pieces of paper and a golden locket, all dry and intact. Tipping it upside down, she caught the locket in the palm of her hand, prying it open with both hands after placing the rest on the bed. Sitting down, she stared at the miniature painting inside.

This was all Emma had left now: an image of Diane during happier days, encased in the only piece of jewelry she had kept.

" _Emma, if anything happens to me...give this to him someday. It's a tiny addition to your promise. Emma, please..."_

Just bloody fantastic. Unclasping it, Emma strung the necklace around her throat, closing the locket's hinges slowly until they clicked shut.

After everything she had lost, she still had her knife ― thank God ― and she had the pouch. Replacing both inside her boot, Emma stretched tentatively before she rose. Pausing before she opened the door, Emma took a deep breath. It didn't matter if Killian was still angry at her for her stupid behavior this morning. She had to talk to him.

* * *

She searched for him on deck, passing dozens of crew members on her way, and when she couldn't find him, she went in defeat to the prow. As she reflected what she was going to say to Killian, she nearly shrieked when the man himself sneaked behind her, snaking his arms around her waist.

"Hello, love," he whispered, every timbre of his accent low and enticing.

Emma spun around immediately, causing Killian's grasp to drop from the force of her movement.

"Killian...you...you...you scared me." Every inch of her skin was burning, and it wasn't from the shining sun. Why did he have to act like an adolescent boy now?

At least he had the grace to look embarrassed and uncertain as he backed away. "I didn't mean to, lass. I wanted...to cheer you up." A small smile crossed his face, his eyes hopeful. When she didn't reply, he frowned, looking down. "Do you still not want to speak with me?"

Emma tilted her head. No, words and apologies wouldn't work. But what about...?

Holding out a tentative hand, she let her smile mirror his. "Actually, I  _need_  to speak with you. Walk with me?"

His face lit up, and he didn't hesitate to encompass her hand with his own. Emma gazed at their intertwined hands ― his so much larger than hers, but both so strong. He came closer, and when she turned to lead the way, he gently pulled her back to him, only to lean down and place a kiss on the top of her head when she gave him a questioning look.

"You're going to be all right, darling. Just remember that." She could only nod in reply.

"Are you still upset with me after all I said?" Emma asked as they strolled alongside the prow together, her footsteps barely matching Killian's long strides.

"Nay ― you were in mourning and I asked too much of you," he shrugged.

"Oh...well, I'm still in mourning," Emma responded, "and I think I will be for quite some time. But I can't dwell on it. There are...more important things to think of ― to do."  _Please say yes ― please say yes_.

"Indeed," Killian admitted, his frame finally resting against the railing in a relaxed pose as he watched her touch the locket hanging around her neck. Unusually, he didn't ask her about it. "And I presume you wanted to discuss those subjects with me, aye?"

Emma bit her lip, releasing her hand to enfold it with her own. Anxiety was a special gift from hell, together with fear.

"About Tortuga...I..." she began, her voice weakening, "...I am not sure about what I'll do there."

Killian looked unsurprised at her statement. "I was thinking the same, lass ― you don't strike me as that kind of woman."

So his mind imagined that scenario first, did it? This wasn't a good start to the conversation.

Letting her fingers restlessly wander over the surface of the railing to trace the polished wooden patterns, Emma struggled to put her proposal into words. It had seemed such a simple resolution in his cabin, but now in front of him... If she didn't reveal it soon, she never would have the courage to ask again.

"I want to stay on your ship," she blurted out, her grip on the rail tightening. When Killian didn't speak, she dared to peek at him.

"I recall you saying once that that arrangement would never work," he quietly countered, drawing near her as his eyes darkened.

"Which arrangement?" Obviously it was the wrong question to ask, as he only came closer until he stood behind her, his coat pressed against her back. She could feel his face settle by the crook of her neck, his breath warming her right cheek.

"Where you stay with  _me_...in  _my_  cabin...as  _my_  guest," he explained, whispering in her ear and lengthening every phrase with a sultry, silky undertone that caused heat to permeate her entire body. As if his words weren't enough, his lips brushed against her ear and her neck, his hand sweeping her hair to the side as his mouth descended to her shoulders and his right arm encircled her waist. She concentrated on not visibly reacting, though all of her senses were trying to give her away.

Breathing was no longer an option when he was that close to her skin ―  _under_  her skin, driving her mad. Whatever they had been discussing faded into the background.

When his left hand left her shoulder, she sagged in relief, hoping that he had been perceptive enough to guess her answer. But no...suddenly that hand was sliding up her neck onto her cheek, cupping it tenderly and slowly turning her face toward his.

"Emma..." he persuaded fervently, his gaze aflame. She stiffened in his one-sided embrace, but he didn't notice. He was lost, his lips ghosting over hers as he seemed to force himself under control.

When his eyes fluttered shut, his lips touching hers, she almost surrendered. Almost. It would be so easy to lean against him ― to let him take control completely and guide her towards something they obviously both wanted. She couldn't deny her attraction to him ― that would be futile. But attraction was a deception ― and in the end, it wasn't real.

Her mind churning, Emma steeled herself for what was ahead. She didn't want to hurt him, but she needed him as a friend, not a one-time lover. She needed to earn her keep, not buy it by sleeping with him in his bed.

"I'm not going to be your whore, Killian," she muttered before he could kiss her. His eyes snapped open, the pupils contracting instantly on seeing the disgust in her face.

"I didn't ask you to be, Emma," he hissed, his expression filled with dismay from the sting of her rejection as he watched her step away from him.

Her chest heaving, she prepared for the worst. "But you just tried to seduce your  _friend_. That's not me, Captain ― I didn't get this far by submitting to the whims of womanizers wanting to use my body."

"I won't deny I've been with many women, love ― I'm a pirate, not a bloody monk ― but are you really going to deny this spark between us, the fire that ignites inside when we're together?" he argued. "I didn't have to  _seduce_  you to provoke it ― you want me as much as I want you, and every time I look at you, I see it in your eyes. Just like you've seen it in mine."

"Ha, how presumptuous of you," Emma snorted, unimpressed. "I am not going to deny or admit to anything ― why should I, as you'd only doubt me? ― but I am going to say I'm disappointed in you, Killian. Where's the man who rocked me to sleep when I was in despair, the captain who showed me how much he loved his ship?" Her voice grew louder, her anger reviving. "Why let the lustful pirate take hold now when I'm trying to tell you something important?"

Killian's face hardened, and when all familiarity had drained from his expression, Emma realized she was now talking to the pirate Captain Jones, not her friend.

"Then tell me, damn it, and stop making excuses for what you feel," he exclaimed, his tone rough and vindictive.

She felt like she wanted to smack his head with the palm of her hand, but she restrained her temper, knowing doing such a thing wouldn't help her cause.

"I want to  _work_  for you as part of your crew, Captain." She inhaled deeply at the end, her legs shaking in anticipation of his decision.

Instead of being aggravated, Killian was now incredulous, his smile mocking. "A  _woman_  as one of my crew? As if it weren't a puzzle how you'd keep up with the men from day to day, what on earth would you be doing?"

Emma swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. "I have experience working on a ship before."

Killian narrowed his eyes, his gaze sinister. "No. That's not good enough. You don't get to work for me with a bloody terse reply like that." He turned on his heel and strode away in the opposite direction.

She ran until she was in front him, crossing his path and refusing to move. "But I didn't tell you every―"

"Stop!" he commanded, crossing his arms over his chest. "I told you my answer, and it's 'no.' Good luck finding work in Tortuga." He shoved her to the side.

Grabbing his arm, she yanked him back. He looked momentarily shocked by her strength, but then his storminess returned.

"I haven't told you the whole story, and you're rejecting me? Why can't you be understanding about this?" she shouted, mindless of any possible audience listening to their argument.

"Understanding about what, lass?" he yelled back. "The way you just insulted me and threw my feelings back into my face without a second thought? The manner of  _your_  rejection time and time again whenever I try to help you? What is it that you want from me after all I've already done for you?" Killian's body was quivering, his fury rippling through every limb as he clenched his fists in an attempt to make it subside.

Emma released his arm, moving backwards as if stunned. She had not imagined he had any true feelings for her underneath that display of desire he just exhibited, especially since they hadn't known each other for that long ― but even so, she was rendered speechless from his passionate reaction alone.

"Killian...I...I can't ― I can't take a chance that I'm wrong about you...I'm sorry ― I'm so sorry that I can't be with you the way you want me to...and I'm sorry for misjudging you...again," she stammered, observing how the color drained from his face. He was clearly taken aback by her response. Before he could speak, she continued breathlessly.

"I know I should have told you before, but there never was a right moment ― a right time to justify why and how Diane and I ended up here in the first place. But I'm ready now. I'm ready to tell you everything ― but I need you to listen to me...to try to understand. Will you? Will you be my friend, and listen one last time?" The fight was gone from her voice, void of any emotion except the sound of desperation.

She couldn't look at his piercing stare anymore, and when her eyelids closed accordingly, she felt two silly tears fall. This emotional burden was going to kill her.

His hand lifted her chin, his thumb grazing her cheek softly to wipe away the wetness. She leaned into that gentle touch ― it was full of longing, and God only knew how much she could relate to that.

"Emma...?" he asked, his tone raw and expectant.

She bit back a cross between a laugh and a sob at how he said her name, her eyes opening to regard him. He looked regretful, still angry but slightly mollified.

"Killian..." she whispered, burying her head in his chest and wrapping her arms around him. The seductive pirate from before was foreign to her ― but this...this was right. Her friend...temperamental and confusing and endearing, embracing her with care as he settled his arms around her waist once more ― this time from empathy, not lust or playfulness.

"Come on," he murmured, releasing one arm to guide her toward the entrance to the lower deck. She followed, not wanting to let go of him and see anything. He shared her sentiment by not relinquishing his grip as they walked below.

"Come, and tell me," his voice echoed when they entered darkness and left the light behind.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A "settee" is an old-fashioned word for couch or sofa.

After lighting candles throughout the room to dispel the gloom night had brought, Killian sat next to Emma on the bed, fidgeting to attain a comfortable position. "I imagine I should apologize for the lack of a settee in my room," he commented dryly.

She knew what he was doing, but it wasn't working. True, there wasn't anywhere to sit here, really ― except for his one-chair desk and the bed ― but it seemed he preferred it that way.

Emma clasped her hands, staring down at the floor. Where to begin, when so much had passed in such a short amount of time... Only two years ― but it felt like a lifetime had expired.

She looked up again to see Killian's outstretched hand offering her a flask.

"What's in it?" she asked, a bit of curiosity leaking into her reluctant question.

"Rum ― and only the best, I may add. Since my wonderful sense of humor failed to enliven you, I thought you might like some 'Dutch courage,' as they say, to brave the trial ahead," Killian smirked.

He must have been sure she would not drink it, because the expression on his face was priceless when she quickly grabbed the flask after peering at it for another instant and took a rather large sip of its contents.

Coughing instantly when the hard alcohol hit her throat like a hammer, Emma persuaded herself to not panic and struggle in silence as she swallowed and tried not to gag at the unpleasant taste. Still, the spirits traveled rapidly to her blood, speeding it along and encouraging her to make this reckless confession without further delay.

After handing Killian back the flask, she leaned her head against his shoulder, bracing herself for the onslaught of memories that were about to arrive.

"Are you ready?" she whispered when he didn't oppose her choice of headrest. Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he repeated her gesture.

"I'm all ears, love ― tell me your tale," he murmured, his face settling against her hair and his warm breath blowing it softly.

She had never been safe. That feeling of safety ― knowing that you were protected, not beyond harm's reach but pretty damn well guarded ― had never been hers, because life wasn't kind ― it was all too demanding. To feel safe now was...incredible. And she didn't want it to stop. It was too good to be true.

"Even if it isn't happy?" Emma fought the last of her reservations about telling him the truth. He needed to know. He  _had_  to know. He was right ― she was still holding back her trust, but in order for this to work, he had to trust her as much as she would trust him.

It was time to build new loyalties.

"I've had my share of misery, darling ― believe me, I am all too familiar with tragic stories," he chuckled darkly, pulling her closer.

Now she was encompassed by Killian ― and the darkness couldn't approach. It would leave.

* * *

"Well," Emma began, her voice trembling, "once upon a time...there was a girl who was abandoned by her parents when she was a baby. They didn't want her, even though she wanted them. With no relatives and no guardians to speak of, she was raised in an orphanage. But it was a terrible place, filthy and wretched...and cruel."

He was stroking her arm, his touch soothing. It gave her the strength to go on.

"So one day," she hurriedly carried on, "the girl decided she had had enough ― she was determined to live, but to do so, she had to leave this prison that pretended to be her home. But when she entered the streets, alone and afraid, she realized she was on her own. To eat, she would have to work. She tried the poorhouses, but they turned her away. Then she came across a group of orphans ― children just like her ― and she found a new occupation. They took her into their band, taught her everything they knew about survival. And that is how...I became a thief."

Killian turned to look at her, a mixture of shock and amazement in his eyes. "You were...are...a thief?" he questioned, his tone disbelieving.

"Yes..." Emma grinned. "Took you by surprise with that, didn't I?"

"Indeed you did, lass," he admitted. "Here I was, thinking all this time what a saint you were, when you're a pirate through and through ― just like me." His voice was teasing, but at the end the slightest amount of yearning entered as well.

Emma poked him in the ribs with her elbow. "No one's a saint...but I've never pillaged towns and murdered villagers, so I'm not a pirate  _per se_."

"Oh no, love ― a pirate," Killian whispered in her ear, "is merely someone who steals from the rich..."

"...and keeps the loot for himself," Emma concluded, earning a half-smile from him. "Well, you wouldn't have me believe that you give to the poor, would you?"

"No," he replied with a low chuckle, "but I must say I've never pillaged a town before ― it's a very messy business, not to mention gory. No...I think I'm satisfied with pillaging ships and their crews."

"And murder?" She bit her lip, catching his gaze and holding it. He stared back, never taking his eyes off her.

"I won't lie to you, Emma..." Killian's face was emotionless, but she couldn't help sensing underlying regret. "Proceed with  _your_  story, aye? You're trying to distract me, but I won't be deterred," he scolded with mock severity.

Emma sighed, leaning against him once more. She felt too tired to press his secrets from him. "So...I started out as a thief when I was seven, and by the time I turned fifteen, it seemed to be a fact that nothing could go right for me or my life." She paused, remembering.

"The band of orphans I lived with all caught typhoid when I was ten...and though I got the sickness as well, I didn't die. I was left alone ― again. But this time, they didn't choose to abandon me...they were just taken away. My family of lost boys and girls..."

Her resolve slipped for a moment when she felt waves of melancholy pierce her voice, striking swiftly.

"For several years, I survived on my own, renting some squalid room in a boarding house that I abhorred. I stole small things ― wallets, purses, coins ― and I made it from day to day. Barely. I tried to ignore my conscience, my constant guilt since I had started that what I was doing was wrong and that I should stop. But I had been taught that if you don't think of yourself, you'd end up starving or worse...and that kept years of guilt at bay. Until the night I met Diane..."

Killian shifted on the bed again, his legs stretching out in front of him. "And that made you stop thieving?"

"No," Emma responded immediately, exasperated by his interruption. "It took more than that. And besides," she inserted slyly, "who said that I've stopped?"

She could almost see his ears perk up with interest, his teeth glinting in a devilish grin that belonged only to him.

"You have my full attention, darling."

"Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted," she crossly resumed, "I was going to say that the night I met Diane, I suddenly realized what I had ignored all those years―"

"That you needed to go to sea?"

"Killian!"

"Apologies, Emma. Please," he answered huskily, "do continue."

Emma gave him a searching look before she dared to speak once more, satisfied that he was serious and listening intently. "I realized that I was lying to myself. I had gone to a tavern that night ― picked the pockets of most the men inside, who were drunk as hell and had thought me a 'lady of the night' after how close I got to them―," she winced, "―but I escaped unscathed, even after one of them tried to grab me outside."

Killian turned suddenly to peer at her, and there was such open concern in his eyes that it stunned her ― as it had before during the several times she had seen it since she'd met him.

"Emma, did he hurt you?" he demanded, taking her hands in his.

She tilted her head and gave him a sad smile. "No, but it  _almost_  happened. Just like it almost happened many times in the past."

Looking down at his lap, Killian caressed her hands with his thumbs. "You should have found me sooner." The sound of his voice was muffled, even though he was sitting right next to her.

Emma gently removed one of her hands from his to lift his chin up and make him see her. He was startled at first by her touch, but then he relaxed, his lips parting slightly. "It's all right. I fought, and I won. I'm tough that way."

"Aye, you're a tough lass," he agreed, his returning smile not reaching his eyes. He was clearly upset by what she had said, and he hadn't fully recovered yet.

"So...Diane had been in the tavern, watching. She followed me, traced me back to my place...where she called me out. Told me I was a coward when I said I was unhappy with my life and what I was doing, and then when I called  _her_  out on her own cowardice by venturing out at night in disguise, she broke down. You see...Diane was born into luxury."

"I knew it," Killian muttered under his breath.

Had it been that obvious? Emma shrugged. "Like me, she was miserable. We were both stuck in a rut, where our choices were out of our hands and we didn't really live, just meandered from day to day. I was poor, and she was rich ― but it didn't matter. To make a long story short," she swallowed, longing for some water, "we bonded over our similarities  _and_ our differences...and we became friends. We understood each other pretty well after a while ― and the foremost desire in both our minds was to escape from the prisons our circumstances were. For me, it was the squalor of London and that I couldn't leave it. For her...it was her parents, the way they controlled her but didn't care about her."

"And this is where, I'm assuming, you decided to set out to sea?"

"Right...but it went further than that. You see, Diane was kind of impressed by my endurance and how I wasn't a hypocrite about my 'trade'...that I was open about why I was a thief and that I paid everyday for my profits with an increasing sense of remorse. So she decided she wasn't going to be hiding what she thought and believed either..." Emma cringed at having to say the next words, but they were necessary.

When she stopped speaking, Killian spurred her onward. "Yes, love?" he goaded, his blue eyes sparkling with curiosity ― like the waves of the sea when they were touched by light. Emma's fingers went to the locket nestled around her neck, holding onto it when she re-heard Diane's eager voice in her mind, detailing her plans.  _Their_  plans.

"It's very important to you, isn't it, but I've never seen you wear it before today." He was pointedly observing how she restlessly fiddled with the golden chain and the locket itself, not letting either lie still.

"Oh, this was Diane's," she explained, "and she entrusted it to me should anything..."

"Ah," Killian commented quickly, "but I didn't ever see her wear it either."

Emma lightly nudged him, a grin breaking across her face against her will as any sadness she had momentarily felt disappeared. "You have sharp sight, pirate ― from now on, I'm not taking my eyes off you for a second."

He smirked, his brows raised mischievously. "I would despair if you did."

Rolling her eyes, Emma finally let go of the locket, going back to where she left off with her narrative.

"She wanted us to become pirates ― sail the seas, travel the world, live lives of unadulterated, uninhibited freedom. No regrets and no returns. We'd be partners, working to create what we wanted together."

"And you knew of the remorse that would also come with that career, hmm?"

"Of course we did, Killian," Emma said through gritted teeth, "but at that point, we didn't care. Diane admired pirates for their honesty about their deeds, even if those were crimes. She thought we could start with that ― with doing what we wanted to do because we wanted to do it, and not holding anything back."

"You and her, criminals and pirates? If I tell Doc, he'll insist that's blasphemy."

She laughed, lowering her hand to rest atop his. Killian looked surprised again, but said nothing. "And that is why I'm telling  _you_ , not him. He has a different image of Diane ― and I want to leave it be, not destroy it. We weren't innocent girls setting off for adventure ― well, we were initially, but that changed pretty quickly ― and we knew exactly what we were getting into, even though I had my doubts and didn't want to go through with it.

"But we did. Our first ship seemed to be as reputable as it claimed...a simple merchant vessel that shipped cargo around the world. We saw different cities, traveled, worked on deck as cabin boys...oh, and did I mention we were pretending to be boys?"

Killian's eyes widened at her admission, but he only smirked and shared a glimpse of an irrepressible smolder hiding behind his curiosity, only waiting to be released later.

"Ahem," Emma cleared her throat, "for the record, we were bloody good at it. They never suspected, even though one of the crewmen we befriended probably knew the truth. The problem was, however, the captain. He was violent and murderous, killing innocent men left and right, and he had a terrible temper that erupted at the most unlikely moments..." The time when they discovered two women dead in his room, their throats torn... She shuddered, willing the vivid scene to depart.

"When we discovered how much his crew feared him, we convinced them to mutiny. However...it wasn't planned well enough, and the captain found out. We escaped with our lives only because a passing pirate ship attacked...and it was then that we decided to use our true identities. We found another merchant vessel to sign up for...but in reality, it was a pirate ship, stealing profit from right under the noses of its investors..."

"That was the ship that was sunk by the storm, aye?"

"Yes, the  _Titan_...it was quite a ship," she dreamily recalled.

"Hmph," Killian snorted, "not like my  _Jolly Roger_ , though. The fastest ship in the world, she is."

Emma grinned at his need to defend his vessel's reputation. "Well, the  _Titan_  is gone now," she sighed sadly, "but we stayed on that one the longest ― more than year. It was our home."

"I see," he nodded, obviously calculating the passage of time in the piece of the story she had dictated so far as his brow wrinkled in thought.

She bit her lip, fixing her gaze on their hands, which were intertwined once more. Now came the more difficult part to tell ― the part she was dreading.

"There's more, isn't there?" Killian astutely guessed.

"Always," Emma whispered softly, watching the stars peek at them through the window, the blackness outside ushering in their muted light all the more.

Licking her dry lips, she tried to voice the event that had altered Diane permanently...the person who had impacted both their lives forever.

"We were working...working so hard on the  _Titan_ , cooking and cleaning and helping the ship's doctor tend to the sick and doing all kinds of miscellaneous tasks...but Diane was becoming bored with our routine ― and the fact that we weren't actually pirates. Day in and day out, we helped and labored to earn our wages...but we never got to do any pirating. The captain was clever, stealing stealthily and invisibly by selling the cargo at exorbitant prices and keeping the extra money for himself ― but other than that, the ship was normal."

"Well, we pirates are extraordinary, aren't we? Exceptionally good-looking as well, and everyone envies us, from husbands and kings to attention-starved women..." he pondered with a dazzling smile.

Emma chuckled at this mockery of his own conceit, dodging his attempt to bait her and elicit a defensive response. "Sometimes I think that's all an act...lonely, desperate men trying to boost their low self-esteem by making themselves such high and mighty masters and commanders," she half-smiled, raising a brow when he gave her one of his searching stares.

"You may be more right than you know, lass," he finally remarked. Emma was surprised to hear no sarcasm or quips, only a sincere ring to his tone and his mannerisms. He was caressing her hands again, looking down at the floor.

She decided to lighten the mood. "Where was I? Ah yes ― the love affair that changed our lives." Killian's head shot upwards on hearing that.

"That is," she smirked, "Diane's love story. When we stopped at one of the ports, one of the merchants who was shipping goods on the  _Titan_  asked for safe passage to our next destination. As could be expected, the captain agreed but was secretly furious at this indirect inspection of his performance. But at the last minute, the merchant couldn't go when he came down with the fever...so he sent his assistant in his place. And that," Emma finalized with a shake of her head, "is where the trouble started."

"Ah, Diane got involved with  _him_ ," Killian wisely interpreted, a smug grin quirking his lips. Emma glared at him.

"You're getting ahead of the story, Killian!" she reproved, huffing and withdrawing her hands from his grasp to cross her arms over her chest.

"My humblest apologies once more, princess," he winked, "but you can't blame me for being fascinated. After all, you are a bloody marvelous storyteller."

She should have waved off his flattery, ignored it ― instead, she felt herself feeling the opposite and even blushing at the intensity of his words.

"Before I go on, could I have some water?" The sudden request puzzled Killian for a moment, but he stood up and did as she asked without comment, filling the cup from his nightstand and handing it to her as he seated himself again.

Imbibing deeply, Emma kept the cup in her hands, tracing its contours absentmindedly.

"Yes...she became involved with him. He lavished her with attention, treated her like she was a queen...and won her heart. The more she learned about him, the more she loved him...and it was the same for him. Or so we both believed," she retorted.

"Their relationship escalated rapidly...too rapidly...and I hated it.  _Hated_  it, but I couldn't tell Diane that. When he asked her to leave me behind and go with him when he disembarked at his destination, I was furious. I argued with her, tried to persuade her that he was playing with her feelings, that he wasn't serious ― that he was using her. For the first time since I'd known her, she didn't listen."

Tears sprang from her eyes, unbidden. Killian quietly wiped them away before resuming his intent stance.

"She didn't listen to me...and when we landed, she did leave with him. I was...I was―," Emma rasped, "...I was so  _hurt_  that I wanted to scream ― that she had chosen some  _bastard_  she barely knew over her best friend, that she had deserted  _me_  for  _him_. I felt betrayed, although I knew it was ultimately her choice and she was an adult making it, not a child."

"And that's when everything came crashing 'bout your ears, aye?" he softly noted, his blue gaze as penetrating as ever. It was seeing through her heart, her mind, her senses...and she couldn't breathe when he did that. So Emma looked down, seeking relief.

"Diane came back," she exhaled, "just before the  _Titan_  was going to set sail and leave. She was hysterical ― and alone. She said she woke up that morning to find him gone ― and there was no explanation, no letter...no trace of him. She had run through the whole town, searching for him, yelling his name...but he wasn't anywhere. And when she realized he wasn't coming back for her ― she said he had proposed to her ― Diane's heart broke. And, single-handedly, I had to pick up the pieces...but I couldn't fix them and make her whole again. She was...shattered." There was no better word to define her friend's state of being than that. Ha.  _Better_. English was such a devious and contradictory language.

"And now to repeat Doc's intrigue, that's when Diane started feeling unwell and became ill?" Killian inquired.

"Indeed...and you know the rest." Emma's fingers went back to the locket. She had reached the end...but was it really lying if you omitted some of the details? Or was she honoring her friend's memory by ignoring them?  _Yes, that was it_ , her conscience purred. She was being honorable by not saying the whole truth ― at least, not yet. There would be a right time...later.

"I do?" He sounded unconvinced. "That's it ― no in-between tidbits? Then a giant storm happened to cross your path months later and effectively destroyed your ship, leaving you as shipwrecked as when I found you? You didn't tell me, for example," he insisted, "what you did in terms of work when Diane was too ill to do anything aboard the  _Titan_."

"I took on her duties, asked the captain to let her rest in our room while I did all of our work," she replied simply, alleviated that that was all he wanted to know.

Oh no. She knew that look of his ― he  _did_  want to know more. "I think you're leaving something out, love." Killian scrutinized her, crossing his arms over his chest as well.

Emma bit her lip, gazing back at him imploringly. "I can't tell you everything, Killian ― but please trust me when I say that you're the first to hear our life stories. Please..." she whispered, her face falling, "don't push me to dig deeper into the past. It's painful enough already."

He dropped his defiant gesture to wrap his arms around her, pulling her to him. "God knows I understand about that," he uttered huskily. Finally, he said the words she wanted ― no,  _needed_  ― to hear. "I do trust you, lass ― but under one condition."

Emma looked up at him, her eyes tracing the outlines of his every feature. "Anything."

Killian leaned in so closely she thought he was going to try to kiss her again ― but he didn't. Instead, he rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes at the sound of her gasp. "Give  _me_  a chance...and trust me?" he whispered, the emotion in his voice affecting every nerve in her body.

"I promise," she intoned, closing her eyes as well. "You're my friend, Killian. My last friend..."

He smiled, amused. "Ah, Doc will be jealous if he hears that pledge."

Emma grinned back. "No, he won't ― he liked Diane better than me. She always had that effect on gentlemen ― so I'm used to being second."

"In my book," Killian seductively revealed, "you always came first."

" _Came_?"

"Why, Miss Swan, I do believe  _you_  are flirting with  _me_  now," he teasingly admonished, laughter rumbling in his chest.

Her nose brushed against the silver cross hanging from his necklace. "Why do you wear this?" she asked. "Pirates don't usually wear religious items around their necks, you know."

"Yes, I know," he sarcastically concurred, "but I'm not your typical pirate, darling. And this cross is very special to me."

"Oh? Care to share that story?"

Anguish visited his face again, haunting his eyes. "Another time, perhaps," Killian whispered, peeking at the window. "It's late, dearest Emma ― it's best you went to sleep now."

"But I was supposed to tell you about my skills and why I wanted―" she argued.

"Tomorrow, lass. The crew will be in Tortuga in the morning, I will venture forth there in the evening, so you'll have me to yourself the whole day, convincing me of your undeniable worth," he winked, grinning.

Rising, he proceeded to the door. But Emma didn't want him to go.

"I don't feel like changing my clothes," she admitted, biting her lower lip.

Killian turned from the door to the blankets hanging over the back of the chair by his desk, wrapping them around his arm. "I'll just get ready for bed then," he replied, pulling off his jacket and vest and placing them on the coat rack. He gestured to his shirt. Emma flushed red and looked away.

"You  _can_  look if you want, love ― I don't mind." Even now, with her back facing him, she could hear him smirking.

When she righted herself again, he was bare from the waist up, his boots gone and his blankets laid on the ground. And despite her mouth going dry and her mind fluttering at the sight of him bare-chested, Emma chose to let him in ― even if she was going to be uncomfortable herself. Compassion was a dangerous emotion.

"You don't have to sleep on the floor."

He glanced at her with a lifted brow.

She patted Diane's side of the bed ― her former side of the bed ― not daring to watch him anymore. "Sleep here."

Emma thought he would speak some blush-inducing comment or try to get even with her for pushing him away earlier. But that wasn't his reaction. He kept doing that ― surprising her.

Coming round to where she sat on the bed ― where they had just sat together ― he dropped to his knees and took her hands in his. Kissing her knuckles gently, he peered at her and smiled.

"Thank you, Emma ― you have my word I'll be a gentleman."

And she believed him. There was no deception in his face, no lies in his words.

"I know," she heard herself say automatically as she began to lift the coverlet to nestle her head onto the pillow, the smell of the clean sheets engulfing her nose.

Hovering over her, he planted a kiss on the top of her head, whispering "Good night" into her hair.

When he blew out all the candles, he hesitated by the window.

"Please ― the sea...it puts me to sleep when nothing else can." Emma felt embarrassed saying this, but there it was. She didn't understand it, but she hated lying to him. Maybe because it didn't work, or maybe because he saw right through her every time. Or maybe it was because she liked being honest with him.

While she had mused over this, Killian had paced back to the bed and slipped underneath the covers, moaning quietly when he settled on his side to face her. "That feels much better," he grinned.

Emma paused, but she couldn't stop herself from slowly reaching out her hand and caressing the side of his face with her fingers, watching as his eyes closed and his breathing deepened. She and Killian had an unquestionable connection, that much was certain ― and it was here to stay.

"Good night, Killian."

"The same to you, Emma," he replied, opening his eyes halfway to stare at her. Her heart traitorously reacted to the warmth emanating from him, but this time she drank it in, shutting her eyelids slowly and sighing before she took her hand away.

Before sleep claimed her, she listened to him call out her name again. "Yes?"

"Thank you for telling me, lass ― that could not have been easy."

She half-smiled, snuggling more into the sheets. "It wasn't. But..." she continued before he could interrupt, "I'm glad I told you. And it helped that you listened."

Feeling him grin back at her in the darkness made her believe that you could know without seeing. "Aye, I'm glad as well."

And as they focused on the steady lullaby rushing through the open air, the ship rocking them, Emma sensed they were both happy. Despite her grief, her loss, her pain ― she was at peace. Even if she hadn't quite let go of all three yet. But could she ever?

Still, it was the pirate captain by her side who had made her forget her sorrow for one more night. And Emma had a feeling he would continue to do so long after they awakened the next day.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

" _But I don't want you to go," Darlene begged, gripping the ends of Killian's coat. He knelt down until he was face to face with her._

" _Father said I must go," he explained, feeling terrible when his little sister started to cry. How could he explain to a five year-old why he had to go to Eton, when all he wanted to do was stay with her?_

_Wrapping his arms around her, Killian lifted her up until he was carrying her, her hands wrapped securely around his neck. "Don't cry, Darlie, don't cry ― I will be home soon," he chanted, rocking and swaying her until her sobs subsided. One hand threaded through her long golden curls while the other patted her back._

" _Promise?" Darlene's voice was muffled from her tears, the sounds of her sniffling close to Killian's ears._

" _Yes, my darling ― I will be back for Christmas and springtime, don't you worry," he replied as cheerfully as he could, trying hard to convince himself as well. If it were not for Darlie...he would never return. In comparison to his father, college was the lesser evil._

_She turned to peek at him, her bright blue eyes shining. "You―you could take me with you..."_

_Killian was certain the pain he felt in that moment spread throughout his entire face until it circled back to his heart. "I wish I could." His tone was too mournful, but he didn't know how to hide it._

_Darlene's face fell as if a candle had been blown out. Her lower lip quivered, which forced Killian to look down. Just how was he going to leave without her?_

" _Just remember, darling: everything is going to be all right._ You _are going to be alright." He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. Her hands were now gripping the lapels of his coat, her gaze as intent as his. Their eyes had always shared the same hue ― like that of their dear mother ― and their personalities had always been alike as well. They were both fierce, determined, and stubborn._

" _If you don't come back, Killian, I will fetch you myself," she warned seriously, her nose wrinkled by her pout. Killian grinned mischievously before he swung her quickly upside down, which made her shriek in surprise._

" _Never threaten your older brother, my dear," he chastened teasingly, turning her upright again and spinning her around in a circle several times until she laughed._

_When they both regained their breaths, Darlene rested her head on his shoulder, her long eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks and the crucifix she had worn since birth jangling against the collar of his shirt. "I love you, Killian ― so don't stay away long, because I'll miss you too much," she whispered._

_Killian cleared his throat, which had suddenly become congested. "I'll do my best." He swallowed hard. "And now I'll take you to your room, aye?"_

_She nodded against his shoulder, her breathing deepening into one of sleep._

_When he carefully climbed the staircase with her in his arms, Killian finally dared to say what he had been holding back, murmuring it into her hair. "I love you too, Darlie ― and God knows how much it will hurt to part from you..."_

* * *

Killian wanted to toss and turn, to sit upright ― but he couldn't, feeling strangely pinned down and unable to move. And when he eventually opened his eyes, groggily aware of his surroundings and the still dark room, the first thing he saw was the reason why.

Emma's arms were around his neck, her head resting on his chest. When he tried to squirm out of her embrace, she moaned, resisting the change by snuggling closer to him. When he relaxed, a genuine smile crossed her face, and though she couldn't see it, he helplessly smiled back at her, shyly resting one hand on her hip and the other over her hair.

Emma was making him behave like a youth again, and try as he might, he didn't know how to desist ― and she might refuse him when she was awake, but there was nothing he could do if she threw herself at him when she was asleep... Lazily closing his eyes and tightly embracing Emma, Killian sought his dreams once more. Perhaps this time he would have no nightmares...

When several knocks pounded against the door after what seemed like minutes later, Killian groaned. He wished he could keep Emma like this for hours, safe in his arms and unburdened by her troubles ― or his ― but of course life had to step in and disturb them.

Gently disentangling her from himself, he leaned her back on the bed, rearranging the covers and her pillow so that she would be comfortable. He had missed watching her sleep; her expression was peaceful again, and there wasn't any sorrow in her features. And when her lips twitched upwards from another smile as she buried herself in the bed, Killian stared at her more, captivated.

Leaning down, he quickly placed a soft kiss on her forehead and caressed her hair before standing tall by the bed. After giving Emma one last longing look, Killian sighed deeply as he trudged to his clothes, dressing adeptly before opening the door.

Mr. Smee, his first mate, waited on the other side, nervously biting his nails.

"What is it, Mr. Smee?" Killian asked tiredly, his patience already wearing thin on seeing him.

"Pardon, Captain," he stammered, wringing his red cap in his hands, "but the lads want to be at Tortuga as soon as possible ― they're clamoring for rum, and it's only past sunrise!"

"And they will have their leave when we lay anchor," Killian sternly bid, "which I'm about to instruct as soon as I'm on deck. Satisfied, Smee?"

His first mate whimpered when Killian towered over him, giving him a commanding glare. He hurried to nod respectfully before almost running up the ramp leading to the main deck.

Closing the door, Killian walked over to the washstand and splashed some water on his face, letting the water run down unchecked as he pulled on his boots.

"You're going?" The echo of Emma's sleepy voice alerted him to turn around on his heel and face her. She had lifted her head from the pillow, her eyes half-lidded.

"Can't let my men be insubordinate, love ― duty calls." Killian pulled his belt and scabbard tighter around his hips, withdrawing his sword to examine it minutely before sheathing it again.

"But you'll be back...won't you?" Was that panic he heard in her plea?

"Aye," he replied consolingly, "I'll return before the sun shines in this room." Moving to open the door, Killian couldn't resist teasing her a little before parting. After all, she had almost strangled him in his sleep.

"And Emma?"

She raised a brow inquiringly.

"Maybe you could take this opportunity to change your clothes, fresh―"

"Can I take a bath?" Emma interrupted, rubbing her face with her hands.

He didn't bother to hide the heated, mischievous smirk stimulated by those five words. "I'll let Doc know ― but, I must say, the thought of a bathtub with you in it sounds so tempting...better than seeing you merely unclothed," he mused, letting desire color his tone, "...perhaps you'd wait for me to  _assist_  you with both?

Barely dodging the pillow she threw at him, Killian slipped outside. "You have good aim, lass ― save it for more pleasurable activities, aye?" he winked.

Emma groaned before covering her head with her pillow, effectively blocking out his image from her vision. Such a stubborn lass.

Killian chuckled as he left, smiling to himself as he made his way to the surgeon's quarters. Today he would have Emma's company all to himself ― and he would also finally have all his questions answered.

* * *

"I'm ready, Doc," Emma called out, pouring the remaining water from the basin into the bathtub. How do you not spill water on the floor when the ship is swaying nonstop? Washing her hair was problematic again as well, but having the tub ready to catch the excess water was quite beneficial in keeping Killian's quarters dry.

Doc's head peeked through the open door, a smile on his face on seeing her standing beside the desk.

"For a moment," he chuckled, "I thought the room would be flooded."

Emma grinned at him, shrugging. "What can I say? I like cleanliness the same as the next person."

"Which is the Captain."

She bit back a laugh, watching as Doc sighed on seeing the amount of liquid in the bathtub. He rubbed his face tiredly.

"Have you been sleeping all right, Doc?" Was he grieving over Diane at all, or was it selfish of her to ask it? Emma silently rebuked herself. Of course it was selfish. He had only known her friend briefly ― and the way she had died had probably evoked memories of Isolde...

He glanced at her, a sad frown on his face. The frown tried to rearrange itself into a reassuring grin, but ended in being a morose half-smile before its owner looked down, pointedly ignoring her question.

"I'll get Soupy to help me with this ― he's one of the few honest men on this ship, I swear," he muttered as he hopelessly dragged the tub to the door, pulling it by the handle from the front.

Not missing a moment of his struggle, Emma bent down and began to push on the tub from behind until it reached the entrance halfway. After all his help, it was the least she could do, removing that pernicious obstacle of metal. Somehow. When it was empty, it was lighter.

"It's a good thing I'm back to wearing breeches and shirts," she grunted to herself, increasing the pressure of her footsteps as she dug her feet into the soles of her boots.

When Doc had asked if she needed anything else besides a bath, she had specifically asked about "more suitable" apparel. After giving her an amused stare, he had brought her an armload of shirts and breeches, some in matching colors and others...well, how was she to have known those were  _the captain's_  shirts and breeches? On a positive note, she did need to look more like a pirate and less like a woman, if Killian's taste in clothes was any indication.

"Soupy!" Doc called out when the tub rebelled and didn't budge another inch. Despite working together, both of them were out of breath and nearly sitting on the floor.

The nimble cook looked antagonized by the doctor's request, but his face softened on seeing Emma. Did she remind him of someone from his past?

"Ye really shouldn't be trying to tug that tank out by yerself, Doctor ― nor you, miss. Yer innards will be coiling inside!" he protested as he took a bucket and scooped out enough water to diminish the waterline considerably, grumbling as he left.

"No worries, Soupy ― a little physical exertion is necessary to be in good health," Doc wheezed, succumbing to his urge to plop on the ground.

"True, but there are all kinds of physical exertion, Doc ― some more  _exhilarating_  than others," a familiar accented voice commented.

Emma sighed in exasperation. Did he really have to be everywhere at the right time to make his lewd suggestions? Her eyes flitted open on what her mind had just said. The  _right_  time? She resisted a snort. There never was a right time for that.

Killian stood lazily in the entrance, a broad grin on his face. He watched her closely when she finally stood upright.

"Ah, it seems you've chosen quite a matching set, lass," he smirked, his eyes raking up and down her form pointedly.

She peered down at the breeches, still brown as the ones she had worn before, and the red shirt she now called her own. The only difference was a tight black outer corset she had found after rummaging in Killian's wardrobe, its thick outer shell covering her midsection and bust down to her waist. It wasn't very comfortable, but it reinforced her soft corset underneath and strengthened her posture. It was like armor ― and currently, it was doing amazing things for her confidence in becoming a true pirate.

"I thought a change was in order, since I'm going to be joining your crew," Emma replied boldly.

Doc and Soupy, who had returned with a now empty bucket, gaped in unison at Killian.

"I haven't taken you on yet, darling," he disagreed, a half-smile on his lips as he gave Emma a burning appraisal from under his eyelashes.

"But you will," she argued, raring for the fight he was starting. After their conversation last night, he still doubted she could handle a place on his ship?

Killian stepped toward her, his smile widening. "Persuade me," he whispered by her ear. "The corset does wonders," he added after her sharp intake of breath when he leaned in nearer, "but it doesn't speak."

Offering her his hand, he challenged her, his gaze almost mocking the sudden weakness in her knees. Hesitating, Emma slowly accepted it, slipping her hand into his. Turning to give Doc an apologetic look, she almost didn't catch Killian peeking at her rising bosom.

When she glared at him in retaliation, he shrugged as he led her out the door. "I'm only human, lass," he defended, chuckling when she pouted and guiding her even more firmly into the sunlight.

* * *

_When her shaking hands quickly opened the envelope, she almost tore the letter inside in her haste to pull it out._

_Her face paled, and one hand went instinctively to cover her mouth._

" _Milah," Killian asked, concerned, "what does it say?"_

_She crumpled the parchment in her hands, not looking at him. It wasn't like her to hide her feelings ― and since she had been with him, she had never needed to._

_He rested his hands on her shoulders, turning her towards him. "What's wrong, dearest?"_

_Milah peered at Killian, her eyes red and watery. "It's Bae ― Gold is begging me to come home, to see―"_

"― _as he has done a hundred times over the past three years," he finished, not wanting to hear any more. He didn't know how to soothe her guilt about abandoning her son ― hell, he could only conceal his own by trying to forget about it and think only of his happiness._

_She pulled away from him, pacing backwards. "No ― this time it's different. My boy is sickly, and he's...he's crying for me in his sleep. Killian..." Some unknown emotion filled her expression, and for once since they had been together, he was frightened._

" _He'll be all right, Milah ― he will!" he implored, silently praying that she would listen to him for once._

" _No..." she whispered, drawing up the piece of parchment and staring at it as if sight alone would make it go away. "No...Bae needs me...so I must go to him..."_

_Killian snatched the letter and threw it into the sea, suddenly hating the sound of her son's name. "You can't go ― as captain of this ship, I won't let you!"_

_Milah cried out, reaching in vain for it as it flew. "I don't care," she snarled angrily, "if you're the bloody captain, Killian ― Gold is right this time. Bae will get better if I'm there with him ― I'm his mother, for Christ's sake!"_

_Killian felt his blood boil, remembering how he had argued with her about this very dilemma before she had joined his crew and his life. "I warned you about this regret ― before you barged into my bed and my heart ― before you made me love you," he growled back._

_She shrieked when he tried to pull her into his arms, scratching at him and pushing him away ferociously. "I didn't force you to accept me ― you did that on your own, Jones," she hissed, yanking out her sword from the scabbard hanging at her waist and deftly pointing it at Killian's throat. He lifted his hands up in a placating manner, wondering how some written words could have led to this violent spar between them._

" _Had enough? Because I have. This is my plan, Captain: Bae needs me, so I'm going to go to him. And you're going to sail me to that port."_

_Killian tried to twist out of her range, but she was too fast. Damn woman ― he had taught her everything he knew, and this was how she repaid him?_

" _Am I now?" he replied smoothly, masking his frustration. "And what makes you think that when you release me I won't just tie you down to my bed until you cool off that beautiful temper of yours?"_

_She removed her sword from his neck and gazed into his eyes, her lips taunting. "We're partners, Killian." Her voice had softened, her rage vacant._

_Stepping warily toward her, he tentatively caressed her cheek with his hand. One word, and he would forgive her without a second thought. No one had ever had that effect on him before. "I know, my love, I know...and far be it from me to keep a mother from her child. If you want to go to Bae, go to him you shall ― and you have my word I'll take you there, safe and sound."_

_She smiled at him, but before she could kiss him, he paused. "Just promise me one thing."_

" _What, Killian?" she murmured against his jaw._

_He groaned, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Promise you'll return when he's better."_

_She moaned "yes" into his mouth, both of them consumed by their increasing passion, but Killian trusted her not to forget her answer._

* * *

"Most of the crew have gone ashore ― but they were whining again, mainly about docking the ship at the end of the farthest pier from the town," Killian explained as he climbed to his post by the helm, observing first the empty main deck before eyeing the distant movement in Tortuga. The bustling crowds at this hour indicated a full marketplace, complete with militia and guards. It was nighttime when it was moderately safe for a pirate to walk the streets.

"You're sure we won't be ambushed by soldiers, even though we're unrecognizable this far away?" Emma asked, resting her arms on the nearby railing. Tortuga might be a pirate's haven, but to her, it looked like every other city she had seen. It was populous, dirty, and dangerous ― a deadly combination.

"Smart lass," Killian grinned, accompanying her on her right side. "But to answer your question ― yes, I'm quite certain. Many ships dock at the harbor during the day, so the soldiers expect pirates to be cautious and come at night instead. I'm confident," he said proudly, "that we'll be fine."

She smiled sadly in return ― she knew all about the dangers of being a thief: the worry of being caught, the nagging feeling that you haven't gained much, the thought that you'll have to repeat the action again. But would piracy be any different, even with the sea between her and her victims?

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't notice how close Killian's face was next to hers, his eyes curious and...caring.

"A farthing for your thoughts, love," he urged, moving his hand to brush tendrils of her drying hair to the side.

"My thoughts are worth more than a farthing," Emma instantly reacted, gaining a grin from him. It only made matters worse.

"I...I don't know if I can do this," she blurted out moments later, her insecurities catching up to her. When she saw his face darken, she bit her lip. Why did she keep saying all the wrong things to him?

"And why," he began quietly, "do you think that, lass? Weren't you supposed to tell me today of your skills, hmm?"

She peeked at him, his small smile encouraging. "I was...but do you still want to hear it?"

Killian ran a restless hand through his short hair, scratching his stubble afterward. "If I didn't, I wouldn't be here, Emma."

"Oh." That settled that. Taking a deep breath, she prepared what she was going to say, but before she could start, a sideways glance informed her that Doc and Soupy were about to disembark.

"Could you excuse me a moment?" she pleaded, leaving a bemused Killian before he could answer as she bounded over to the two men, calling out Doc's name.

"Ah, Miss Emma ― we were just about to descend into the lowlife that is Tortuga," Doc replied with a casual smirk. "Soupy here," he pointed to his companion, "insists on my protection, and I on his, so we're joining forces for a day to fight our way through hell."

For the first time since she had met him, Soupy smiled toothily. "That be true, miss ― we outcasts must stick together during battles fought."

Emma chuckled, her eyes downcast as she recalled the favor she needed to ask. "Doc..." she stammered falteringly, "I know I'm in your debt already ― for so much ― but―"

He interrupted. "You owe me nothing, Emma ― nothing. It was an honor to serve you ― and Diane," his voice cracked slightly on saying her name, "and if you ever need my help again, you only have to ask."

Swallowing hard, Emma stuck out her clasped hand, opening it to reveal a scrap of folded paper. "Please publish this for me in the main newspaper here?" she begged, not trusting herself to stay calm.

When he took the parchment and began to unfold the creases, she breathed haggardly. "In the obituaries, correct?" he questioned when he had eyed the contents.

"Yes," she whispered, busily fidgeting to avoid his stare. "It's what she would have wanted, even though they neglected her. They need to know."

Doc nodded, placing the paper in his breast pocket. "I'll do my best, Emma."

She grabbed his hand and gave it a grateful squeeze. "Thank you, Doc." She lowered her voice, daring to continue. "I know you cared about her, and I'm so sorry it ended the way it did ― I'm sorry for both of us."

He looked surprised by what she had concluded, but he didn't deny it. Instead, he gave her a meaningful glance before turning back to a now gloomy Soupy, who patted Doc's shoulder roughly before descending down the ramp. The doctor followed, not looking back at the ship when he reached the pier and caught up swiftly with Soupy, who was a faster walker than he appeared to be. They paced in time, their figures diminishing as they approached the oncoming urban chaos.

Sighing, Emma strolled back to the railing where Killian stood, now leaning against it as he stared at her.

"Something important, love?"

"Of the utmost importance, Captain," she responded half-heartedly, resting her face in her hands.

"Well..." he continued when she remained silent, "Doc and Soupy were the last two men onboard...so now there's only you and me left." He smirked at her, but she couldn't even smile back.  _I'm alone, alone, alone_...

"Emma..." Killian murmured, resting his hands on her shoulders while he moved to stand behind her. "Just tell me what you can do and how you expect to survive among a crew of mongrels, and I'll find you a suitable post." She cringed ―  _suitable_ , like her clothes, but she wouldn't fit in with the rest.

Emma turned suddenly in his arms until he was almost embracing her, peering at him defiantly. "That's the problem, Killian ― I did all the dirty work: cleaning the deck, the cabins, every surface. We were just cabin boys before we became part of the regular crew. I was later assigned fixing meals because many men on the  _Titan_  got food poisoning thanks to the daft cook the captain had hired when he was drunk ― and I had to take over the duties of any men who became ill and couldn't work. And when Diane was bedridden, I had twice the amount of work to complete in a single day."

She tried to restrained the continuous nagging in the back of her mind, but it broke out. "I've lived on two ships in the span of two years, but I know nothing about sailing."

"But you're clever as hell ― and that counts for something." Killian sympathetically stroked her cheeks, pinning her to the railing with his intense blue vision. "However, I already have men to do all those tasks you mentioned, lass...well, with the exception of the bloody helmsman, who is never sober..." he grumbled.

Emma gasped softly, not believing her good fortune. It was time to reveal another of her secrets. "But I have another talent, you see," she licked her lips, her mouth dry, "...an interest, you could say...which I think you'd find very useful."

"And it is?"

She smiled slyly, leaning forward on her tiptoes until she was speaking directly into his ear, her tone as inviting as she dared to make it. "I can read the sky...and the stars."

He was taken aback as if she had struck him. "How would a girl like you have learned how to navigate?"

"All you need to know, Killian, is that I did learn," she replied, rolling her eyes, "and my knowledge is secure. I'm pretty damn good at it ― noticing the different constellations, judging our position from the stars and the sun's light. Heck, the first thing I ever stole was a golden compass."

He ignored her last statement, reflecting deeply. "Good...like when you were masquerading as a man?"

"Hmph ― that getup was for less than half a year! Won't you even give me a chance to learn? I'm a good student," she frowned.

"I believe you, darling ― but you'd have to learn very quickly about the functions of a ship, the many duties that go with navigating it, in order to keep up and not get trampled by my men. I know you're good ― I taught you for a week ― but can you endure it? Can you live through all this ― dealing with ruffians everyday and earning your keep at the same time?"

Emma lifted her chin, no longer afraid or doubtful. "I'm a thief, Captain ― I always survive, no matter what, and I won't let you down, not for an instant."

Killian tilted his head in further thought. "Then, my dear Miss Swan, your courage is to be commended. You are going to be my new helmsman―" he pressed on before she could interrupt, "―but it will take training and my personal instruction. Are you up for that, darling?"

There was no going back. She chanted to herself what she had decided before she told him about her past:  _it was time to form new loyalties..._

"Yes, Killian," she agreed, "...that is ― if you'll have me."

He chuckled, standing back to offer her his hand the second time that day. "I'm asking you to work for me, not marry me, lass ― don't be so nervous."

Emma smiled, letting her happiness show. It was too soon to tell, but the  _Jolly Roger_  could very well be her new home. "Thank you," she whispered. Then she did something that surprised even herself: she stood on her tiptoes again and softly planted a kiss on Killian's cheek.

He didn't wittily throw her gesture back at her ― no, he seemed to blush and look down, like an inexperienced schoolboy. Emma rubbed her arms, feeling shy herself. Why did she have to be so impulsive?

"Ahem," Killian cleared his throat, pausing. "I'll introduce you to the crew tomorrow morning, aye? We'll be docked here for at least three days, so there will be plenty of opportunities to show you the ropes, as we say."

"Of course ― maybe we can discuss more about my new duties over dinner tonight?" she asked hopefully.

"Over dinner?" he smirked deviously, his eyes narrowing. "How about  _now_?"

Killian had pounced rapidly like a predator and flung her over his shoulder before she could make any audible protest. When she regained enough of her composure to fling insults at him, he had propped her upright by the helm, the wheel right in front of her. God, he moved quickly.

"My dear Emma," he intoned deeply, "you will be the first woman to steer my ship ― and though I've only known you for such a short while, her safety will be in your hands entirely when I cannot man the helm myself. Because I trust  _you_." His smile was sincere again, truly dazzling ― and she was transfixed by the sight.

Forgetting her brief anger, Emma grinned as well. "And I trust  _you_ , Killian ― so teach me everything you know."

"Is that an offer, darling?" he uttered wantonly with a wink.

She nudged him with her elbow. "About sailing!"

"Ah," he said, pretending to be disappointed, "I can do that too. So let's begin, shall we?"

Taking her hands in his and placing them on the wheel, Killian steered it gently. "Let's teach you, Swan, how to be a sailor and a pirate..." he hummed, his eyes closing as Emma relaxed against him, her gaze set on the horizon.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The Eton College I keep going on about in Killian's flashbacks is Captain Hook's college (alma mater) from J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan.

Emma muttered inaudibly to herself as she climbed upward toward the crow's nest, her words a jumbled assortment of sounds even to her own ears. Peeking downward after strengthening her foothold in the rigging during a short pause, she suddenly felt shot with a deafening sense of how high she was and how far away the deck was. How had she been talked into this foolhardy venture again?

Oh yes ― Killian had so  _kindly_  pointed her out to all of his men when they assembled this morning. After a short dinner with her, he had left late the following night to conduct business on behalf of the ship after his crew had returned, half of them sober and the other half inebriated beyond belief. She had tried to stay awake until he came back, but when she had opened her eyes again, she eventually found him up and about on deck before sunrise, already giving orders.

It was a wonder none of his men had been sighted and arrested for public drunkenness ― and the Captain had given them a sound scolding for their lack of discretion before pushing her out in front so they could see their new crew member. However, he had not mentioned that she would be his new helmsman ― and soon enough, Emma had seen the reason in that. With the crew's tempers so visibly riled, that would not have been a beneficial time to promote her so quickly above her new "mates." They were having issues in respectfully dealing with the fact that she was a woman who would not only be off-limits but also working with them.

 _Talk about a double temptation,_ Emma noted disgustedly as she gritted her teeth and continued to tackle the endless rope that led to the long-awaited pinnacle on top.

With only the mast and its accompanying sails for company, she was finally able to process all the events that had flown by since yesterday afternoon.  _Telling Killian about her hidden talent. He offering her a post on his ship. The lesson afterward, filled with laughter on his side and a lot of questions on hers, that lasted until the sunset. Steering the ship together..._  It had been just like before Diane had―

No, she wasn't going to think about that. Now was the time for concentration, or she would finish her trek sprawled and most likely injured on the main deck among a group of gawking men. Besides, Emma reprimanded herself, her friend wouldn't want her to be weeping. She'd want her to be strong ― to stay strong for the journey ahead, and to never falter along the way. She had more responsibilities now. Like staying alive, for one.

Naturally, the trouble had begun when the Captain had finished announcing how she was staying aboard permanently to work, commanding for silence when most of the men had burst into sniggers, some vulgarly asking if she'd be the ship whore. When it was over and the loud cat-calling, whistles, and mockery had died down, Killian had looked at her apologetically and started to go to her, only to be pulled aside into a discussion with Mr. Smee, whom she now knew was his first mate. Not knowing what to do, Emma had turned and walked away, chilled by the pity in his eyes and the notion that her fragile hopes had been successfully destroyed by the reception she had just experienced. But honestly, had she expected any better? For when did anything in her life go according to plan?

She had been pacing by the railing, willing her anxiety to disappear, when she got that familiar sensation that she was being watched. She was proved right when she saw two shadows fall in line with her own.

"So you're the little lady we carried from the wreck, then."

Her head had snapped up on hearing a rough voice accost her hearing. Two burly men were standing in front of her, one short and the other tall. Short and muscular, tall and lean. They made quite a pair.

"Yeah, what of it?" Emma had brusquely replied, instinctively crossing her arms across her chest.

The taller man leaned in, his tone conspiratorial. "Well, seeing as it was us who saved your neck, Cutler here and I agree that we deserve some thanks. The Captain ain't the only one who can be charming, dearie."

Locking her knees, she had glared back at them as defiantly as she could and widened her stance. "You only rescued me because the Captain ordered you to do it ― so technically, I owe you nothing," she sneered, moving sideways to escape them.

They only cornered her further, stepping close until they were only inches apart from her. She desperately searched for Killian, but he was still occupied with Smee, his back facing her. Doc was nowhere in sight.

"Oh, you think you're so canny and you've the guts to be rude, do you?" the short man said viciously. "A woman, trying to be one of the crew ― you want to stay and be a pirate, eh? Start by proving your merit and backing up your sass," he challenged.

Emma had grimaced, not saying anything. They were provoking her, but she wasn't going to let them succeed. "You can't order me around ― I don't even know who you are," she finally responded, curling her hands into fists. They were bullies, and if it was a fight they wanted, a fight they would have.

"Is that right? Well, I'm Smarty," the taller man leered, "and you know Cutler here. We're two of the Captain's long-standing men, and seeing as you'll be starting from the bottom up, you'll be answering to us as well as the Captain." He gave her a lascivious look, licking his lips.

She recoiled from his suggestion, but then she leaned forward until she was almost in their faces, her hard expression emanating anger and dissent. "Nice names ― but neither of you have any brains at all. I'm not his woman," she hissed rebelliously, "and I certainly will never be yours. So back off and let me pass before I show you what it means to piss me off."

Cutler met her gaze, his smirk volatile. "That sounds entertaining."

When she rolled her eyes and pushed past them roughly to walk away, Smarty had raised his voice and begun shouting to the other crew members. "Hey mates, you heard what the Capt'n said ― Swan is one of us now." More laughing ― more ridicule, ringing in her ears. Emma stopped, cursing to herself.

He had continued, not heeding the murderous glance she gave him when she turned around. "And since she's such a hell of a woman, she's agreed to climb up to the crow's nest to show us she means business."

There was silence among all the men, some of them eyeing her singularly. It seemed that climbing to the crow's nest was either a difficult or near impossible feat. Or at least, an undesirable one.

When she pointed her chin at him, pursing her lips, Smarty grinned evilly. "What ― you afraid to do it? Or maybe me and Cutler have been right all along," he said tauntingly. "A woman can't do what a man can, and she never will."

If Emma had refused then, she'd have looked like a coward and she'd never earn the respect of the crew. If she accepted...well, there was a chance she'd succeed. And another that she'd fail miserably.

And that was how she found herself feet away from the bottom of the crow's nest, her arms already aching from supporting half her weight during the long, strenuous climb. The odds of falling were pretty high ― and having enough strength to make it to the top while being baked by the hot sun was part of the risk. No wonder no one willingly wanted this post ― you'd have to do this every single day, even when the weather was nasty.

When she propelled her right foot forward, the rope it sought snapped under the strain, its fibers weak and old. She almost let go of the rigging in surprise, her hands flailing and her feet knocked out from under her. Her heart started to pound ferociously, her vision blurred and her head feeling dizzy.  _This is it ― I'm going to fall to my death and leave my promise to Diane unfulfilled._

The mere thought of the promise ― its implications and consequences ― shocked her reflexes back to life and made her frantically grab at the rigging until she was hanging from it with both hands, her feet tangling beneath. Her heartbeat slowly went back to its normal pace, and her breathing calmed.

Emma could faintly hear yells and cheers on deck, but she didn't trust herself to look down yet. Pulling herself up, she ungracefully hopped over the railing of the crow's nest and threw herself inside, her body hitting the solid surface and the fall leaving her lungs winded. Scrambling to her feet, she felt her blood rhythmically repeat  _I made it I made it I made it_  as it coursed to her brain, lessening some of her dizziness instantly as she peered over the edge.

The crow's nest might be dangerous and treacherous ― but it was worth it all. The view alone was breathtaking: the sea was shining like a multifaceted gem for leagues, the sky chasing it along the horizon while the sun played distractingly with wispy clouds.

This was freedom. There were no boundaries, no enclosed space. The ocean was wide and open, promising adventure and intrigue to all who dared to travel it. There were risks ― death wasn't far behind ― but in all manner of life, there always were. This...this was beyond that.

Leaning on the thick railing, Emma smiled as she watched birds fly past the mast in the direction of Tortuga, their wingtips grazing the sails gently and their cries echoing in time with the call of the sea. An ample protection from sunburn, the uppermost sail was casting shade below, which helped when she gazed at the distant city.

It wasn't that large and forbidding, but it didn't feel welcoming either. The way she was harbored by the crow's nest felt like...being home. She didn't need to prove anything to anyone ― it was proving everything to her instead. She was on top of the world, and she loved it.

Emma was so lost in her musings that she didn't listen to the shouts below that were getting louder and louder. "Swan ― SWAN!"

There was only one man with that voice, and with the rigging shifting uneasily over the edge of the crow's nest, it was obvious he was coming up here to fetch her. Emma tried not to care as she drew back into her reverie, waiting until Killian plunged over the side to stand beside her. He did it so nimbly that she felt a twinge of envy ― how was it he could be so graceful for a man when she could be the clumsiest oaf sometimes?

"Emma," he panted, his eyes fixed on her face, "what in God's name are you doing up here?"

She looked down, fiddling nervously with the ends of the belt around her waist. "I took a dare from the men," she muttered, "and I did it ― I got up here."

Killian looked mortified in the midst of his anger. "I knew that," he hissed, "thanks to your audience below ― but why the hell did  _you_  give in? Have you ever climbed to such a height before that you were unaware of how easily you can get killed in the process?"

Leaning back against the edge, Emma glared at him. "And where were you when I needed to assert myself with those licentious scum? They were pressing me, so I pressed back ― and I didn't see you around to stand up in my defense."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "This is what I was afraid of ― I won't always be there to defend you, lass ― but if you don't fight and you just give into their dares  _and_ , by sheer luck, succeed, they'll just keep on trying you until you break."

"I didn't have any choice ― you would have done the same!" she defended.

"Actually, no ― I would told them to walk the plank before I'd give them the satisfaction of seeing me do as they asked."

Emma wanted to scream at him and pull her hair in frustration. "But then they'd never respect―"

"You don't need  _their_  respect, Emma," he replied in an exasperated tone, "you only need  _mine_. You're working for me, remember? And your post is one of the most independent ― if not the most independent ― on deck."

"You didn't tell them that this morning," she growled thoughtlessly, feeling furious with him ― and herself.

He finally came closer, his nearness overwhelming in the small encirclement. "I couldn't, for clear reasons, love." He softened his voice, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. "But when you're ready to take on your duties, Emma, they'll know."

Embarrassed, she avoided his gaze until he lifted her chin with his fingers, giving her a small smile before turning to enjoy the panorama as she had.

"How did you get up here so fast, anyway?" Emma suddenly inquired, wondering how what had seemed like an hour of hard climbing had only taken him minutes.

Killian gave her a tight grin before answering. "Years of practice, I suppose."

She looked at him in disbelief. "You were assigned the crow's nest once?"

"'Twas my post for many years when I was a boy."

"How young of a boy," Emma teased, "are we talking about?"

She could barely hear him when he whispered back. "About your age, give or take a few years." There was such unhappiness in his words that Emma wanted to forget she had asked ― it was as if she had intruded on one of his worst memories.

"Killian, I..I didn't mean to pry―" she began.

"No, it's all right ― it's part of my past now," he waved off.

Emma bit her lip nervously. "Sounds like you didn't enjoy that part."

He turned to her, his eyes dark and listless. "It wasn't that, lass ― it was how I had gotten to that point, not what came afterward."

"And you're saving that story for a rainy day too, huh?" She joined his side, half-smiling.

"For someday," Killian corrected.

She wanted to hear it now, to take her mind off of what her impulsiveness had once again talked her into. But he wasn't ready, and since he had waited for her to tell the trust ― or most of it ― she would do the same for him.

"You're right," she admitted after a moment's silence, "it  _was_  foolish ― this whole idea ― but I'm not sorry. This was too beautiful to miss...it makes me recall why I wanted to go to sea in the first place."

He didn't move, his eyes glazed and directed elsewhere. "Then it's a good thing you survived this long." There was a hint of humor there, but he didn't seem to mean anything he had said ― as if he was unconscious of his tongue's ramblings.

"Hey," she whispered, wrapping her hand around his still, lonely one. "Are you all right?"

Killian shook slightly, awakening from his meditations. He turned to see Emma grinning at him. "Better, now that you're here," he smirked. They gazed in unison at each other, her breath catching in her throat by the rapidly changing blue she saw there.

She eventually chuckled in relief, leaning sideways to rest her head against his shoulder. It was true ― everything did get better instantly when they were together.

* * *

_Eton College was diverse and thrilling, always provocative. Sometimes, Killian was glad his father had persuaded him to go, even though he was only fifteen at the time he entered._

_But despite how his knowledge grew daily and his classes progressed very well, Eton was still empty for him, its stone walls imprisoning. He couldn't find any real friends, and he was constantly insulted by his classmates when he refused to join them in their nightly revels and overall laziness._

_In addition, Killian missed Darlie dreadfully, just as he had imagined he would, but he was torn between going home and completing his studies. He wanted to impress his father, to make him proud...but at what cost?_

_As if in answer to his conflict, a letter arrived through express post. "Come home" was all the single page said, his father's signature at the bottom and seal on top._

* * *

When Emma jumped down to the main deck, Killian right behind her, she noticed immediately the general silence that greeted her. Smarty and Cutler were watching her with something between grudging admiration and jealousy, while the rest of the crew were unnervingly expressionless.

Huffing, she marched to the helm, not giving them a backward glance. She only heard Killian yell out harshly, "What are you all gawking at, you mangy curs? Get to work ― the first half of the supplies will be here before noon."

As they rapidly rushed about the ship, moving to and fro, Emma settled her sight on Tortuga. Speaking of supplies: she needed to replace what she had lost during the storm. The question was how she was going to buy anything with no money...

"It's very simple, lass ― you can demonstrate your profession," Killian commented, "and just take what you need."

Had she spoken her thoughts aloud? Shaking her head, she caressed the wheel's handles. "I haven't stolen anything for a long while now."

"Frightened, are we?" he admonished. "Well, love, in addition to becoming a sailor, you're a pirate now ― time to start practicing what you preach, hmm?"

Emma glowered at him, hands on her hips. "You sound just like your crew, Captain Hypocrite ― why don't you pay for it all with your gold?"

To her shock, Killian started laughing, long and hard. "Fiery  _and_  bold ― I love it." Still chortling, he approached the ramp leading to the pier. "I could pay, but what would be the fun in that?"

When she didn't follow him, he paced restlessly, gesturing to Tortuga. "Oh come on, Emma ― who doesn't like a challenge? Consider this a test of your other 'gift', if you will ― I'll go along with you to watch from afar and see how it turns out, and if you need any help, I'll intervene and save you, defend your honor and all that," he eagerly finished.

She folded her arms across her chest. She didn't any more of his saving or defending. "If we're going into town together, we'll have to look less...inconspicuous."

Grinning and practically gleeful at how quickly she had acquiesced, Killian mischievously raised a brow. "What did you have in mind?"

* * *

Emma hated revealing clothing with a passion. The black corset had only outlined her figure, but it was nothing in comparison to the daring blue slip of a gown she was wearing now. Even though the skirt itself was long and down to her ankles, every step she took drew ogling admirers from every direction, making her desperately miss her high-necked shirt and long breeches. It didn't help that one of those salivating men was Killian himself, who hadn't stopped staring at her since she had appeared on deck in her temporary apparel.

Wrapping his arm around her waist, Killian nuzzled her neck, playing his possessive part well. He was to pretend to be her  _companion_  so that no one would harass her, but she had to play along in turn to convince everyone that that was true.

"You're trying to kill me, love," he murmured, his hot breath rousing goosebumps along her skin. She couldn't agree more ― this entire arrangement would be the death of her as well.

Emma squirmed a bit in his intimate embrace, replying through gritted teeth, "It's not my fault you're so easily aroused, Killian."

"Oh, you can tell, can you? That makes you a bloody temptress, darling," he growled, hungrily eyeing her from her face down to her hips as they strolled down the main street.

She stiffened, not amused. It was bad enough the dress was extremely form-fitting, but the neckline plunged obscenely until the top of her corset was almost showing. Still, she had chosen it because she had imagined it would be distracting enough ― and, clearly, it was completing that role  _perfectly_.

On the other hand, Killian had refused to change his black leather attire, insisting that no matter what he wore, people would guess he was a pirate. After all, he had been to Tortuga often enough to be recognized ― the bloody place was swarming with pirates. And when some militia passed them by, the soldiers hardly gave him a glance ― pirates, Killian had explained, were a way for them to make a little extra profit on the side through gambling.

Emma, however, they saluted, one of them even winking at her cheekily.

"Oi ― she's mine!" Killian shouted with mock jealousy at the man's fleeting back, uttering profanities until Emma had gripped his waist with her arm.

"Do you want to get us caught?" she hissed, peering around. Unusually, no one was paying any attention to Killian's ranting ― only her and her stupid dress.

He turned to her, a spine-tingling leer on his face. "Why would I worry about that? When I'm with you, I'm already in danger," he said seductively, leaning down until his lips were almost brushing hers.

Placing a hand on his chest, Emma gently pushed him away. "Nice try, Captain ― but I have a job to do."

Releasing herself from his grasp, she quickly strode forward, her boots silent against the cobblestones.  _At least I have my boots, if not my dignity,_  Emma thought when some more passing women gave Killian appreciative stares before glaring at her with hate. How many tarts did he know in this town?

* * *

The marketplace was just as she suspected ― stinky, crowded, and unappealing. But as per her word, Emma had deftly woven in and out by herself, Killian observing protectively and occasionally providing a necessary distraction as she took advantage of lustful male and female attention to invisibly wheedle out new clothing, another set of boots, certain feminine necessities (like better soap, a comb, and ointment),  _and_  a rudimentary compass, only to stuff them into a large leather pouch she had stolen as well.

The hardest heist had been the sword and scabbard ― with that, Killian had come to her aid personally, drawing the stall keeper into a complex argument about the quality of his work while she chose the best blade available in comparison to her old one.

Parting ways as agreed, Emma met up with him right in front of the harbor with her spoils.

"You don't disappoint, love," Killian grinned. His eyes widened when he saw her carrying the bulging, voluminous pouch, the sword and scabbard now attached to a leather belt hanging around her waist.

"Glad to hear you're proud of me, Captain," Emma muttered, adjusting the heavy sack of ill-gotten gain on her back.

Just as quickly, Killian's gaze transformed from cool into burning. Pulling her body to him, he purred, "Proud? Emma,  _you_  are bloody brilliant."

His hands on her waist, he lowered his head until their foreheads met. Emma clung to him weakly, her mind screaming that she should leave and her body clamoring for her stay. She had never felt anything like this for any man before ― and it scared the hell out of her.

"My Emma," he whispered huskily as he offered her his mouth, his hips flush against hers. Emma could feel herself withering under his heated desire, even it was just thanks to her moment of triumph. He knew she didn't want this ― no, that she had  _said_  she didn't want this ― but he was persistent nonetheless, probably hoping it had all been a lie.

It  _had_  been a lie. She had been deceiving herself as well as him, which was evident when her hands went of their own accord to surround his neck and bring him closer to her. After the stress of the afternoon, the pang of thieving again, she had no will to resist. She wanted to give in.

Would surrendering to his touch be wicked ― was it truly wicked to want him as much as she did...as much as he had said he wanted her?  _But_ , her conscience countered warningly,  _passion is nothing without love_...

Before she could close her eyes and lean in all the way, angry voices screamed out. "Stop, thieves!"

Drawing away, Killian grabbed her hand and began to run. "The other ball has dropped, lass ― time to go!" he shouted as he led her through winding alleys, not slowing down until the labyrinth of streets had separated them from their pursuers.

* * *

When they finally were able to board the  _Jolly Roger_  safely, the sun was setting. Doc stood by the top of the ramp, staring disapprovingly at Killian as they ascended. After respectfully greeting Emma, he addressed the captain.

"You should have been here when the supplies came in ― I almost had to fight the bastards off single-handedly when they tried to trod over each other to get to the food."

Killian snorted, twining his arm around Emma's more tightly. "Language, Doc," he tsked. "The way you talk, one would think  _you_  were the Captain and not me."

Doc grimaced, his eyes hard and unyielding. "Exactly."

Sighing, Killian raised Emma's hand to his lips, kissing it gently. "Thank you, lass, for our time together ― it was quite an adventure," he quietly said.

Emma smiled widely. "Yes, it was ― but in all honesty, I'm glad to be home."

Her choice of words made Killian grin from ear to ear, his white teeth savoring the last of the departing sunlight.

"All right, Doc ― take me to the shipment," he wearily ordered, giving Emma a look of immense longing before he walked off with the doctor.

Exhaling heavily, Emma trudged down to the captain's room with her new pouch by her side, realizing she hadn't asked Killian where she should sleep from now on. If their interaction today had been any reminder, being in close quarters was becoming difficult. The only way she would be able to restrain her traitorous body was if she wasn't in his company so often. Though like it or not, she would be. Sleeping in the same bed, however, was another story ― a hazardous situation that needed to end for both their sakes.

Avoiding the affected men she encountered on her way, Emma entered Killian's quarters quickly and shut the door behind her. Leaning her back and her head against it, she reflected on what she had done before undertaking the long-awaited task of changing her clothes back into something decent.

She had almost succumbed to her physical desires and kissed Killian, from which there would be no going back in regards to their friendship. She had taken more goods in one hour than she had done during several years of her childhood ― if she had ever had one. And she had accepted a dare to show a bunch of pirates that she was one of them, not thinking through the consequences.

She had stolen, lusted, and been foolish. And strangely enough, she didn't feel guilty about any of it.

All in all, today was a new day. Because now she was well on her way to being a pirate. And tomorrow was only the beginning.

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

_The compass just lay there, its golden shine reflecting the slivers of light sneaking through the display window decorated inside with bows of holly. It looked polished and clean, its surface flawless. Most compasses were supposed to point north ― to help you find your way when you were lost ― but this one probably could point to whatever your heart desired most, it was that beautiful._

_Emma blew on her cold hands and stomped her feet repeatedly as she continued to stare at the golden compass, her face almost pressed against the thick glass that stood between her and the store within. Christmas was coming, but the only celebration she and the gang could look forward to on that day was a slightly larger meal than usual. There would be no presents and no holiday cheer ― they couldn't afford either._

_The saddest part of all, Emma pondered, was that she had nothing of her own, nor would she be acquiring anything substantial soon. True, she still had her baby blanket, her embroidered name on the front of it the only sign that her parents had cared enough to christen her. But that was her only real possession, aside from her clothes and worn-out shoes. She'd never had any toys or books to speak of, even though she loved to play and she had learned how to read and write in the orphanage._

_She was seven going on eight ― it was high time that she had something to commemorate her new life with her friends, and what could be better than a device that helped you always get home? They were her family now, and she was going to build a home with them. Transfixed by the compass's circular shape and curves, Emma answered her deep twinge of wanting by making a decision._

_She wasn't a master pickpocket yet, but the boys had taught her enough for starters ― and she was going to use what she had learned._

_She was going to own this compass ― and she didn't care what it would take for her to get it._

* * *

Emma turned over the compass she had stolen at the marketplace in her hands, its outer metal cover glinting. It was simply designed and cheaply made, but it would serve its purpose well ― though it was nothing in comparison to the one she had lost. That compass was not merely some trinket she'd kept since she was a child; it held memories, some dear and others cruel and hurtful. But now it was at the bottom of the sea, and she was stuck with this unattractive substitute, several striking new memories attached to its attainment.

"Emma?" Doc asked, his concerned query interrupting her thoughts.

She looked up, realizing that she was still at dinner with Doc and Killian, her food almost untouched. She had unknowingly tuned out the two men's animated conversation about the day's events to focus on the ghosts she still held onto so desperately...

The ghosts of the past, words and fallen hopes and beloved people whom she could only see with her mind's eye. They were never to return, but they still crowded the inside of her heart until it felt like it would burst from yearning. Like the sight of Diane sitting by this very table not even a week ago...

"I'm fine ― thank you, Doc," she forced herself to say, gripping the compass hard after placing it in the pocket of her breeches. She'd end up crushing the poor thing if she didn't control her emotions soon. Emma attempted to smile, but from Killian's disbelieving expression, it wasn't fooling anyone.

Suddenly, the room felt stifling, and she couldn't breathe. Rising from her chair, she barely noticed Killian and Doc rise as well as she clambered to the door, murmuring excuses when she opened it forcefully.

She heard Killian call out her name, but she couldn't go back ― not even to him. Not now. The door was slammed shut by the wind, ceasing his cries, as she ran up the stairs leading to the main deck.

All she could think about was what she had wanted and could never have.

All she could see and hear were her old friends, their wishes and dreams and worries.

The future was too distant, too uncertain. But the past was already belonged to her...

* * *

" _You know, Emma ― sometimes it feels like I've known you all my life," Diane admitted, smiling cheerfully even as she scrubbed harder the area she was cleaning._

 _Emma gave her a grin in return, mopping her allotted part of the_ Titan _'s deck with water gratuitously. "Sometimes? I always feel that way," she said nonchalantly, glancing over to see Diane give her a look of incredulity._

" _What? It's true, I tell you," Emma insisted vehemently, walking over to where Diane was and beginning to rinse her scrubbed deck as well._

" _Emma ― I wasn't finished yet!" Diane protested, standing up with her bucket of soapy water in her arms. The abrupt movement caused Emma to accidentally crash into her and make the bucket fly out of her arms into the air. It turned upside down in the process and the liquid inside splashed out, soaking their clothes and hair thoroughly._

_Emma gasped in surprise, cold water running down her back. "Diane, I am so sor―"_

_Another outburst of water poured over her head, forcing Emma to close her eyes. When she opened them again, strands of wet hair sticking to her forehead, it was to see an irate Diane glaring at her, Emma's now empty water bucket in her hands._

" _That," she growled out, "was for ruining my work."_

_Emma's jaw dropped open in shock, but she recovered quickly from the prank, smirking mischievously. It was a good thing they were anchored temporarily at sea, or this act of retribution wouldn't be possible._

" _Oh?" she replied innocently. "Well, this is for not accepting my apology like a lady and wetting my undergarments."_

_Pulling Diane by the arm, Emma ran like the wind until they reached the railing, the wide opening for the boarding ramp in sight. "Emma ― Emma, NOOOOOOO!" Diane screamed when she realized what her friend was about to do._

_Yelling victoriously, Emma didn't hesitate as she jumped from the ship into the sea below, dragging a screeching Diane down along with her._

_When they resurfaced from their deep plunge, the first thing Emma did was splash water playfully at Diane's face, which looked as unamused and grumpy as that of a drenched cat._

" _Oh come on, Diane ― have a sense of humor once in a while!" she scolded, swimming around her._

_Diane refused to reply, huffing and looking upward in annoyance. Emma rolled her eyes._

" _Well, look at the bright side ― we got a chance to have a bath and wash our clothes after begging the captain for weeks!" she pointed out._

_Suddenly, her friend's sour expression cracked and she started laughing, her giggles turning into non-stop, endless chuckles and deep-bellied rumbling that would probably echo for leagues. As hard as she tried to interrupt herself and respond to Emma's silly excuse, Diane was helpless to resist the infectious mirth building inside that had erupted._

_In reply, Emma shrugged in mock despair, a comical gesture that made Diane laugh even harder. Seeing her smile meant that she had been forgiven, and Emma knew she could never stay angry at Diane either. Soon they were both swimming, dodging each other's swats and enjoying the cool refuge from the hot sun._

_Their mutual peals of laughter still reverberated for many hours after they had climbed back onto the ship and changed into dry clothes, the half-washed deck forgotten._

* * *

Emma squinted through wet eyes at the starry sky, wishing Diane was still here with her. She had been the last link left to her old world, the life and the dead she had left behind in London.

It was wrong to break down so openly in front of Killian ― her unhappiness would only hurt him, even though it had nothing to do with him or being on the  _Jolly Roger_. There were times when she could suppress her grief easily with images of Killian's warm smiles or his silly flirtatious remarks ― and others when every emotion she sought to barricade out would come rushing in, almost drowning her with their intensity.

She only knew one thing to be true: she missed Diane. And she'd never stop missing her, despite the new life she had to look forward to. She had Killian as her friend, but...that was different. She  _liked_  him ― but she had loved Diane. If there was any person she had known so far who had brought out the best in Emma, it had been her.

"You find comfort in the stars too, love?" Killian quietly uttered, pausing before he came to stand beside her by the railing. Thankfully, he didn't mention anything about their almost-kiss...yet.

Emma turned to give him a sad smile. "You always come when I need you, and yet, I never understand how or why," she whispered, ignoring his question.

He managed to half-grin at her, though his smile had none of its usual fire or suggestiveness. "Trying to figure me out, darling Emma?"

Reaching for his hand, Emma held onto it, massaging it gently with her thumb. She'd never even noticed the many rings on his fingers before, cold red and gold amid warm flesh. "No...but  _when_  will I learn more about you?"

Killian sighed, tightening his grip on her hand uneasily while facing the night sky. "You're still mourning over Diane's death, aren't you?"

"Looks like I'm not the only one avoiding answering the questions," she commented drily. "But yes...I am." Her voice softened. "Killian, she was like a sister to me...and I can't ― I  _won't_  forget that...forget her."

"I understand, lass," he replied kindly, "but don't shut us all out meanwhile." Turning his face toward the sea, his tone deepened. "Don't shut  _me_  out. Please..."

 _If you'll do the same for me_ , Emma thought as she watched him admire the dark view, his perfect profile motionless. "Do you have any family?" she asked tentatively, wondering if he would ever tell her more about his own past. He always shied away from talking about himself, even though he seemed so cocky and arrogant at times.

When he finally stared back at her, he looked tormented, his features strained by pain. "Maybe I did...once."

"They're all dead?" she whispered after a moment of silence, her eyes fixated on their joined hands.

Inner struggles and turmoil was on display in Killian's gaze, his free hand gently reaching out to stroke Emma's hair. She closed her eyes at the gesture, a smile crossing her lips. He was going to let her in and finally confide in her ― she could feel it.

"My bastard of a father is still alive somewhere, but everyone else who mattered...is gone." Bitterness tore through every word.

She leaned in closer to his touch, not wanting to move away. Despite the hatred evident in his voice, what he had said meant he still cared about his father ― much like Diane had kept caring about her parents. "Your mother?"

Killian grimaced. "She died when I was almost ten years of age." When Emma peered at him inquiringly, he sighed. "In childbirth."

"So you have a brother?"

"Swan, you are sneaky," he chuckled quietly. "No, not a brother ― heaven forbid! A sister...named Darlene."

"Oh," Emma gaped, taken by surprise. If Killian had a sister so much younger than himself, where was she? "And she's still with your father?"

His eyes darkened immediately until they were pools of ink, his expression suddenly as alarming as the night. "No..." he snarled between gritted teeth.

* * *

_When Killian arrived, leaping from the carriage in his haste to reach the house, his father had opened the door before he had time to knock._

" _Killian...so glad you could make it on time," he drawled, ushering him inside._

" _I received your message, Father ― but what was so urgent that it required my riding express?"_

_As they approached the staircase leading to their private chambers, he stopped Killian in his tracks with a raised hand. "Before you go upstairs, you should know that this problem has been manifest for quite some time."_

" _Problem?" Killian repeated, confused. "What problem?"_

* * *

_Hesitating, he gently knocked and then opened the door. Darlene was nestled under her bedcovers, her face pale and sad. When she saw Killian, her eyes brightened and she tried to smile._

" _Killian, you came back!" she squeaked, her hoarse voice transforming into a series of dry coughs._

_He almost ran to her bedside until he was sitting next to her. "Darlie..." He combed his fingers through her hair, feeling her hot scalp. When she visibly shivered, pulling the blankets closer to her, he reached for her hands, which were weakly searching for his own. They were icy, and her cheeks were gaunt, as if she hadn't eaten for days._

" _When was the last time you had a proper meal, my darling?" Killian whispered, trying hard not to tremble. His baby sister had always been healthy ― lively and wonderfully healthy. How on earth had her condition reached this stage that she had been confined to her bed for months?_

_Darlene looked down guiltily, biting her lip. She always looked so adorable when she did that. "I didn't feel hungry, so I didn't eat."_

_Killian cursed inwardly. The more important question was who the hell had been taking care of his sister during this period of time? Because he was going to kill them._

" _Well," he began with as much of a grin as he could manage, "now that I'm here, we're going to have a feast, you and I ― and inside the greenhouse, not this gloomy den."_

_Wrapping the blanket well around her, Killian scooped Darlene into his arms and carefully carried her out of the stale room, her head leaning against his chest. Walking down the hallway, he made a mental note to tell the servants to air her chambers and change her sheets as soon as possible._

* * *

" _Everything is better when you're here," Darlene sleepily murmured later that night after Killian had read her "Sleeping Beauty" from the worn book of fairy tales, which always stood vigilant on her bedside table._

_He smiled gently, brushing hair from her face. "It's good to be with you again too, Darlie darling." She only scrunched up her nose in reply._

" _What? I thought you liked my special nickname for you!" Killian said with mock hurt, pouting in turn. The little girl laughed._

" _I've been so lonely, Killy ― you coming home was a dream come true!" She sighed, closing her eyes as she settled into the pillows._

_He grinned until his face ached. "Ah ah ah," he scolded quietly, watching her breathing deepen, "I'm not a Killy, dearest ― I'm a Killian."_

" _You're not just that," Darlie argued wearily, her words mumbled, "you're my best brother."_

* * *

_Killian was determined to accost the first servant he saw once he had slowly closed the door to Darlene's chambers, still seeing the relieving picture of his little angel finally resting and smiling in her sleep. Oddly enough, it was Martha who he bumped into, the rotund lady who was more or less in charge of the household servants._

" _How did this happen? Darlene was sick before occasionally, but never like this! She looks like a ghost of what she was when I left after last Christmas!"_

" _Many apologies, Master Killian, but the doctor was only called recently―"_

" _Recently?" Killian shouted, his anger on the verge of exploding. "In God's name, she looks like she's dying!" His voice nearly broke, like his heart was doing as he admitted his fears to himself._

" _There was nothing I could do, Master ― I personally wanted to send for him months ago, for I noticed the child's appetite waning everyday ― but I was told to let Miss Darlene be, if it please you, sir," she stammered, her second chin shaking._

_His jaw tightened, his eyes black. "Is that so? And who dared to order such a thing?"_

_She looked frightened when she replied. "Your father."_

* * *

" _You knew ― all this time, you knew, and you did nothing," Killian thundered menacingly._

" _The housekeeper wrote to me that Darlene was ill, but that it was just a cough ― I believed that she would grow out of it." His father was as indifferent as usual ― obviously, the idea of his daughter dying in the room above his head didn't affect him in the least, Killian mused bitterly._

" _Just a cough?" he responded hesitantly, his voice half-strangled from fury and desperation. "The doctor told me she has consumption, the symptoms of which take months to develop in children her age, and you thought she would 'grow out of it'?"_

" _Enough," his father sternly commanded. "I summoned you in time, did I not? ― and Darlene has the best medical help available. You do not question me, son. I am your parent and guardian and you will treat me with respect."_

 _The final excuse made Killian's self-control snap. "Respect ― respect? Since when have you ever respected_ us _, Father? You could have told me about Darlie's state of being months ago, yet you choose not to, knowing I would have found you out sooner. Better yet, you should have come home and helped her recover when you first heard she was sick, not abandon her to pine away in her chambers."_

_He was yelling now. "You purposely neglected her ― as you always do ― so you could stay on with your miserable banker friends, probably gambling the time away and getting drunk."_

_The sharp snap of a cheek being slapped resounded in the vast chambers, the sting of disbelief and anguish bouncing from the walls right onto Killian's expression. His father had never touched him before, not even when he was pleased with him, but to receive a gesture from his hands for the first time like this..._

" _Watch your step, boy." The phrase was simultaneously threatening and challenging, like a hunter admonishing his prey before leading it into a trap._

_Killian walked closer until he was face to face with his father, his posture rigid. "You've always hated her, haven't you? You'd push me to become what you want, but you'd allow her to simply fade away. What has Darlene ever done to you that you would be so cruel, so unfeeling ― so monstrous?" He wanted to know ― needed to know if he was right. The lies had gone on long enough._

_Two burning eyes met his gaze, the emotions inside swirling until they were unrecognizable. "When your mother died, it was bringing that girl into this world. She is to blame for her death ― she is the reason why my wife is gone."_

_A feeling of disgust and nausea overwhelmed Killian. "Is that all you see her as?" he breathed in shock. "You took part in her birth, in her creation ― but because Mother didn't survive and Darlie did, you hold such a terrible grudge against your own daughter? Why? Why do you hate her so much that you'd just let her die?"_

_The voice that replied was bereft of anything good. It was as if his father was gone and replaced with a shell of the same man, only he was made of pure ice. "You've never understood, have you, Killian?" he said with a sinister chuckle, deadly and venomous as his intentions. "Darlene has never meant anything to me. She has only ever been a burden I am forced to carry ― along with that of your mother's untimely departure from my life."_

* * *

"Killian? Killian! What happened to her?" Emma's worried voice called out to him, shaking him from his recollections. Thank God he hadn't said all that aloud.

He swallowed, his eyes flickering between the water and the railing. "I told you ― she's gone," he answered, trying to adhere to indifference and maintain his composure. He was not going to expose himself to Emma ― not now, and certainly not regarding Darlene.

Emma gently grabbed his arm and leaned in until she was directly in his line of sight, her face pleading. "Killian...please, I want to know."

"Why?" he countered. "Why does it matter to you, Emma?" At first he had asked because he wanted her to forsake her own question ― the most painful one yet ― but now he found himself genuinely interested in what she was going to say in reply.

She bit her lip, backing away from him. "I―I can't explain it." Pausing, Emma peered at him shyly. "I care," she half-smiled, shrugging slightly while she blushed. "It's as simple as that."

"Oh?" For the first time since Milah, his heart was running away from him, straining and pulling towards something other than gold and the thrill of conquest. Wetting his lips with his tongue slowly and sensually, he let his fingertips trace the outline of Emma's arms, her skin flushing beneath his touch.

"You care, Emma, do you? Well, would you  _care_  to ask me something else, perhaps? Like what  _should_  have happened outside the marketplace were we not so rudely interrupted?" he smoothly distracted, his voice velvety and beguiling.

Emma looked momentarily mesmerized, but then she shook her head, walking out of his reach to pace along the deck. "I know what you're doing, but it won't work. Your sister, Killian ― tell me where she is."

There was a storm brewing on the edge of his mind, threatening to engulf his senses. "You don't give up, do you?" he rasped, exasperated by her determination. "Her fate should be inconsequential to you ― after all, you've never met her, and you never will."

"But I  _want_  to ― I'd  _like_  to. I'd be honored to meet one of the people you've loved so deeply. Captain," she emphasized, her tone meaningful and compassionate, "no matter what kind of pirate you are, you do love. I see it in your eyes when you think about  _her_."

Startled by her observations, Killian felt frozen to where he stood. Had Doc told her about Milah? No, he wouldn't do that ― he couldn't have. He was sworn to secrecy. No one could know about the shame and heartbreak he had been carrying for so long ― wounds that were now scars. They always re-opened, bringing fresh pain ― and when they did, he became vulnerable, susceptible to attack.

So he did what he always did best: he pushed away anyone who came too close.

"You know  _nothing_  about me, Swan," he retorted. Careful to make his expression cold, he turned to leave. If Emma was wise, she would take the bait and not follow him.

"You prize bravery, Killian," Emma's voice called out. It was filled with disappointment, hurt, and, if he was not mistaken, embarrassment. "You admire courage, but you're not practicing it right now. Why are you running away from me?"

He flinched, stopping mid-stride. "This has nothing to do with you, Emma ― and I'm not running away ― not from anyone. I'm merely leaving you to your thoughts."

She marched over to his side, her breathing heavy. "You know what I think, Captain?" Emma declared, hands on her hips as she stared at him defiantly. "I think you're  _lying_. Darlene obviously was very dear to you, and now that I've found a gaping hole in the impenetrable armor of Killian Jones, you are evading the truth. Be honest. You want me to look away, to pretend ― but  _I won't_."

Killian gritted his teeth, restraining his temper as best he could. Emma was getting on his nerves, twisting his heart and beating him at his own game. She was besting him ― he had judged she wasn't good at reading people like he was, but he was wrong. In this instance, she was better.

"You damn infuriating, stubborn woman," he hissed, his eyes narrowing. "Let this go. Don't press me further."

She pursed her lips, edging nearer until her body was fingertips apart from his. "No," she challenged softly, not backing down. "I want to see your heart, to see that there is indeed a soul deep inside the pirate I befriended."

He lifted his chin, glaring down at her. "I assure you, there isn't. I'm made of stone, Emma, and truth be told, you  _shouldn't_  care about me. I've lived my life in wanton pleasure and luxury, never once contemplating the miseries of others as long as I myself was satisfied. I've injured others in mind and body, I've robbed more treasuries than you can count, and I've killed mercilessly. And unlike yours, my conscience only comes at night to haunt my dreams. When I wake up in the morning, I feel naught."

Killian grabbed her hand and placed it on his chest, right above his beating heart. "You hear this? It's an illusion. My body lives, but the person you're hoping to find is dead. I've rotted until even I don't know who I am." This was the most intimate touch yet at Emma's hands ― though he had executed it ― but he willingly forgot about blasted propriety, concentrating instead on her green gaze.

"Seems like you have an identity crisis," Emma noted lightly. Her expression somber the next moment, she looked from Killian down to her hand, her fingers caressing the skin made visible by the cut of his vest. He stifled a groan, watching her lips.

"No, you're not dead," she murmured, reflecting. "I see glimpses of you underneath the facade you've built, the Killian who saved Doc and took care of two strangers warring with the pirate captain who wants everyone to believe he's made of iron."

"Emma, why on earth can you not desist? You will not change me ― you know you cannot." It was most likely a fruitless venture, arguing with her ― but maybe he could make her see sense.

She tilted her head, searching his eyes. "We all have our dark sides, Killian, and you've let yours take control. You want to hide the Killian of the past behind the one of the present. But I don't give up easily ― it would go against what makes me  _me_. I refuse to see only what you see: I see more. And I won't stop until  _you_  see it as well ― until you want your old self to be free as much as I do," Emma countered, sincerity in every word.

He mentally cursed how husky his voice became next, his hands betraying his decision to not pull Emma closer to him than she already was. "Are you judging me, love? Are you saying you despise who I am now?"

She smiled. "Never. You were my partner in the square today," she teased, nudging him, "and since I've met you, you've never failed to surprise me. I just want you to be whole ― to be complete. Like you, I know what it's like to live your life in pieces." She leaned her head down, and Killian imagined she was going to embrace him. But she didn't. Instead, her gesture made his heart roar savagely and his skin burn.

Removing her hand from his chest, she gently kissed the area it had covered ― like one would kiss a scar to ease the pain ― and her cheeks were glowing red when she was finished. She tried to escape his arms, looking anywhere but at him, but he growled softly, confining her.

"Emma...what would you have done next?" he whispered. When he saw her confusion, he clarified. "What did you want to happen next before we were chased today?"

If possible, she blushed a deeper shade of red. "After everything we've flung at each other in this conversation, you choose to focus on that in the end?"

He pressed his forehead against hers, willing her to open her eyes. She did, and he was puzzled by the fear in them. She wanted him to be honest, but she was concealing what she really felt.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked, raising his head to press his lips to her forehead.

When she shook her head in denial, he slowly kissed her nose and both of her cheeks in turn, pausing before her mouth. She was trembling in his arms when he caressed her jawline with his fingers, his other hand keeping her form in place.

"Emma...what would you have done?" he repeated. He wanted her answer more than he had wanted anything in a long time, and he wouldn't release her until he received it.

"Killian...please. Don't ask this of me ― don't test me this way," Emma pleaded, her hands cupping his face.

He smirked, tenderly kissing the corner of her mouth. "It's not a test, darling. It's about what you want ― tell me what  _you_  want."

When she brushed some wayward hair away from his eyes, Killian's resolve to let her choose disappeared. Her eyes were bright and warm, and suddenly, he realized he didn't need any other answer. Her sensitive touch, the way her smile affected him...and her determination to believe in him...

Her lips were soft and firm, maddening and calming. He wanted to capture them, to lock them away in his mouth. His hands were now threading through her blonde hair, his kiss ardent. But she didn't respond. She wasn't responding.

Killian tried to coax her, to persuade her to let go of her remaining doubts. She wanted him ― he was sure of it. But when she pushed him away, tears streaking her cheeks, he was lost all over again. Nor was he prepared by the bolt of shock and pain that hit him, the all too familiar anguish and despair looming twice as darkly above him.

"I can't," she said brokenly. "Killian ― I'm so sorry...I...I can't." Covering her mouth with her hands, she almost ran past him.

"Now who's running away from whom?" Killian hissed when he forcefully drew her back to him. "I may not have been ready to confide in you, but now it seems I was proven right ― you, not a hypocrite? You won't even admit to that kiss we almost shared before, the one I wanted to share with you now ― the longing there when you look at me...when you touch me."

She fought him weakly, her arms hanging uselessly by her sides when he embraced her fully, his body pressed against hers. Her lips were red from their contact with his own, her pupils dilated.

"Don't fight me, Emma. I need you ― you're the only one who can make me  _feel_ ," he commanded hoarsely before devouring her mouth again. Only this time, all hell broke loose.

She was running her hands through his hair, her lips parted for him. He worshiped them, running his tongue in between, and she gasped when he entered inside. Hesitant at first, Emma mimicked his actions, following them closely.

 _She must have never been kissed before_ , Killian wondered before deepening their connection. Emma moaned, her sighs intermingling with his breaths. The more passionate the kiss became, the more he needed her...wanted her...

When his hands lowered from her hips down to her bottom, her eyes snapped open, and in an instant she had ripped herself away, gazing at him with horror and shame.

"No..." she denied. "No, this did not just happen."

" _You_  kissed me back." He winced when she bowed her head and refused to meet his eyes.

"And now I can't undo what I've done," Emma said miserably, fidgeting like a bird wanting to flee.

"Then don't. Emma...be with me." His desire was clear as crystal, and the desperate begging in that proposal tore at his pride...but he couldn't help it. If she left him now, after that kiss and all the possibilities it had shown...

Killian offered her his hand, taking a step toward her, but she shrunk back as if he were an advancing beast.

She bit her lip nervously, clutching at her shoulders. "This is wrong ― you know it's wrong, but you're encouraging it. You  _know_  what would happen if we continued this."

"Aye, I do ― and how is it wrong, again, for us to be together when we feel like we do?" he argued, not willing to surrender.

"It's wrong," Emma explained in a tense voice, "because you're my friend. My captain, now that I'm working for you. And because you were right."

He lifted a brow at that, daring her to continue.

"You were right," she finished breathlessly, "that I barely know you. And to do something like this now would be...incredibly foolish." Her tone hardened. "I'm done being foolish."

"So now being with me is  _foolish_?" Killian was furious. "You  _wanted_  me ― you  _kissed_  me ― so stop denying your feelings!"

"I'm not!" Emma shouted back. "But you took advantage of me, Killian ― did you think through what it would be like for either of us once you'd use me and pitch me to the side like you've done so many other women? Or did you selfishly ignore all that, putting yourself first?"

"I'm a bloody pirate, love! We're not known for putting others before ourselves!" he defended derisively, not sure how to address her other accusations. Emma's jaw dropped slightly, but then her stance shifted.

"You're hiding behind your mask again, Killian." She sounded defeated, her eyes dropping to the ground.

"No, I'm not, lass," he replied quietly, feeling drained as well. "And what makes you think I would use you like you've implied?"

Emma gave him a pointed look. "Because you don't love me, Killian." Cutting him off before he could comment, she concluded, "You just want to bed me."

He shouldn't have allowed guilt to overwhelm him ― why would it, when he had never cared about such things before? But with Emma...it was different. He wanted her good opinion, her trust, her respect, her honesty ― and he couldn't understand why. But the truth was the truth, and he wouldn't lie to her. However, elaborating on how he really felt about her seemed to be rather pointless at this time.

As they stood there silently, staring each other down, Killian finally realized that their argument was more or less over. There wasn't anything else to be said.

Emma cleared her throat, trying to lessen the crackling hostility between them. "Since I will be working for you..." She peeked at him to make certain he still acknowledged that. "...I think it would be best if I slept in my own chambers from now on."

Every muscle in his body stiffened, his mind agreeing with her but his senses rejecting the idea. Even her bloody presence would be taken from him, wouldn't it?

Tightening his jaw, he controlled his voice as best he could. "I'm rather short on free rooms ― but if you find one tomorrow that suits you, it will be yours for as long as you serve on my ship, Swan."

And without glancing at her to decipher her reaction, Killian sauntered in the opposite direction, his parting thought fixated only on whether she would share his bed one last time tonight.

* * *

When he was out of sight, Emma ran below deck. After hurriedly grabbing her belongings from Killian's chambers, bumping against objects in the dark, she managed to find the surgeon's chambers.

As she pounded on the door, she recalled her first kiss. It was supposed to be an amazing experience...and it had been. The pleasurable sensation of Killian's lips against hers, the wondrous fire blazing between them...and how it had to end before it spiraled out of control. Her tears running rampant and unchecked, she was sobbing when Doc finally appeared in front of her and, after a mortified expression of shock, ushered her into his arms.

As he led her to a chair, soothing her all the while and patting her back reassuringly, Emma re-envisioned the hurt on Killian's face when she had once again rejected him, the distress in his voice when she had turned away during a time he needed her most... Although he had been mostly responsible for placing her in such a position in the first place.

Was their friendship beyond repair because of one kiss, one heated moment ― had it morphed into something else, something intolerable and frighteningly irresistible?

They were both so stubborn, and God only knew forgiveness was not easy for either of them to give... But they needed it after hurting each other so deliberately.

Eventually, Emma dried her tears, reminded that Doc was waiting for an explanation. But while she spoke to him, her words scrambled at times, her mind traveled to other worries, her behavior becoming increasingly distracted.

Now that Killian had hardened his heart once more, she was unsure whether she'd be able to stay on the  _Jolly Roger_  as she'd hoped, the happiness of the last day long shattered.

After one encounter, the future was hazy, and everything appeared to be broken ― including her heart. And, worst of all, she didn't know how to mend it.

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

" _Emma, you know I have no choice ― I must do this," Diane argued. "It doesn't matter what you think of him ― or what I think of him," she choked out, "but that I do what is right."_

_Her image wavered until it was now merely screams, shouts, and horrible cries, all intermixed until the raucous sounds were suffocating. The landscape became black, and then a bright light appeared in the midst of it. Killian was walking towards her, and when he was mere inches away from her, he stopped._

_He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. Then, somehow, his arms were wrapped around her, his mouth on hers. Heat was spreading through the expanse of her skin, and she didn't want it to end. Killian felt so real, and so warm... She was eagerly running her hands along his back and then up his chest, pulling off his leather jacket as he began to unbutton the back of her dress..._

_And then blood appeared on the middle of his shirt, above his heart. His eyes widened, and before she could rip off a part of her skirt to stop the bleeding, he was torn from her arms, and she was left alone._

_Branches were whipping her flesh as she ran through a forest with no sky, leafless trees surrounding her and preventing her escape. The darkness was closing in, and when she sank to the ground in tears, she finally screamed, calling out for Killian and Diane endlessly..._

* * *

Emma's head was pounding, her mouth had become extremely dry overnight, and her eyes were half-open, rebelling against the bright light in the room. After a nightmare like that, she had wanted to awaken, despite how her body protested, and forget about dreams altogether by having a large morning repast and scouring the ship with Killian...

Looking beside her, she realized she was all alone in the bed, and that the room she was staying was not the captain's. And then she remembered last night, and all it had entailed...

On one hand, her moment of passion with Killian had been a risky mistake she had mindlessly succumbed to. On the other hand...their kiss had been one of the best moments of her life, a choice she might regret but one she would never forget. It had been confusing, overwhelming, and unbridled, and despite that it was long over, the memory was still making her feel the exact same way.

Doc was not present, so she slipped from under the covers, made quick use of the washtub, and put on her clothes. Just as she had finished pulling on her boots, the doctor entered the room after a few brief knocks, carrying a rather copious amount of food on a tray.

"Ah, you're awake ― splendid! I told Soupy you were in need of a feast this morning, so he sneaked a few additional sweet rolls your way," Doc greeted with a welcoming smile. Bending over his worktable, he carefully laid the tray down and began to organize what he had brought.

Emma sighed, running a hand through her hair as she heaved her stolen pack onto the bed and rummaged through it. She had been conscious enough last night to return the compass to the bag, but now what she needed was a comb. Finding the beautifully carved wooden comb at the bottom, its teeth unimpaired, made her grin. When Doc turned to offer her a plate, she had re-arranged her hair and tied it simply behind her back.

"Why Emma, you look lovely," he remarked, taking a cup and filling it with tea after Emma had settled on the bed and begun to nibble on her breakfast.

She half-smiled. "Thank you again for being so understanding ― I didn't know what to do yesterday..."

Doc shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't mind sleeping on the floor ― I've had worse." When he stopped drinking his tea to stretch his arms and his neck cracked, Emma giggled.

"Sure you didn't mind ― even Killian was overjoyed when he got his bed back again..." Her voice trailed off, recalling how he had smiled when she let him sleep next to her, the arrangement companionable and innocent. And then last night...which had not been so innocent...

"Yes..." he commented, wincing visibly. "About that...I just passed by our dear captain when I was on my way to retrieve our meal here. He asked about your whereabouts ― he sounded very worried."

Emma snorted, biting roughly into her biscuit. "Oh? As worried as he was when he walked away from me and left me alone on deck?"

Doc gave her a look of concern, tipping a teaspoon of sugar into his cup and stirring the contents slowly. "Killian's a good man, Emma ― I know it's hard to believe at times, but he didn't mean to hurt you. He can be..."

"Brash?" she offered, crossing her arms over her chest. "Careless? Reckless? Obstinate as hell?"

"Are you sure you haven't just described yourself as well as him?" he smirked, chuckling quietly when she pursed her lips disapprovingly.

"I didn't try to kiss him ― he kissed me first," she defended. "He pushed me too far, and I couldn't fight any longer ― just as he knew I wouldn't."

"Oh, I'm not sure about that," Doc interrupted. "Yes, he went too far considering the circumstances ― but I don't think he purposely wanted things to develop like that. He's always been too quick to act on his emotions. In fact, judging from the dark circles under his eyes and his disheveled appearance, he probably hasn't slept all night."

Emma peered up at him, curious.

"I heard," he interposed, "from whispers among the crew that he and some of the men went down to Tortuga later on and didn't come back until sunrise, all 'drunk as skunks', as they say these days."

"Well, that figures," she replied, throwing her hands in the air.

The doctor half-smiled, rubbing his hands together in thought. "However, he was concerned about  _you_ , Emma ― he wouldn't let me go until he was reassured of your safety."

"Oh? That's very gentlemanly of him," Emma muttered sarcastically, sipping her own cup of tea and finishing off the crumbs from her rolls.

"His nightly merrymaking was to be expected, actually," Doc continued, "since today's our last day in port before we 'heave ho.' We won't be approaching land again for quite some time, so if you have anything you'd like to do in town, I'd be happy to escort you...unless you'd like me to ask Killian to do the honors?"

The grin he gave her was so sly and yet so good-natured that Emma almost spit out her tea and laughed out loud, understanding why Diane had grown so attached to Doc. It was hard not to ― he was intelligent, had a good heart and an interesting sense of humor. Like Killian, he was a fascinating persona.

"I'd like to go with you, Doc ― you don't mind, do you?"

He chuckled. "Of course not ― however, I will most likely have to duel with Killian afterwards on account of his jealousy issues," he said dramatically, placing a hand on his heart.

Emma snickered. "Jealous of you or of me?"

"Both. After all, he can't live without either of us," he winked.

As Doc walked over the door, balancing the tray carefully on one arm and Emma's hand on the other, he asked, "Are you ready?"

She nodded after taking a deep breath and giving her pack one final glance.

* * *

Walking on deck, the smell of sea wafting across her nose, was decidedly pleasant. Seeing Killian almost run toward them on seeing them approach the ramp was not.

"Doc! Emma!" he anxiously called out after yelling commands to some of the men and ordering one frazzled, dazed-looking man to watch over the helm.

"Oh, no," Emma groaned under her breath, releasing Doc's arm and trying to board the ramp before he reached them. The doctor gently tugged on her sleeve.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of facing Killian now?" he whispered, eyeing the captain march rapidly across deck after being intercepted several times by questioning crewmen. "If you're determined to stay and work on the  _Jolly Roger_ , you have to resolve this rift between yourself and him sometime."

Emma looked down uncomfortably and shifted from foot to foot. "I know, Doc...but I'd rather do that later than right now."

When Killian finally stood before them, he gave Doc a respectful glance before turning to her, his eyes never leaving hers.

She squirmed under his intense stare, holding tightly to the doctor's arm until she heard him grit his teeth in pain. Feelings of guilt and shame washed over her, soaking her to the bone. Gently releasing Doc from her grip, she looked briefly over Killian.

His hair was ruffled considerably, he was dressed only in his customary black shirt and leather pants, and he appeared to be physically exhausted, although he was moving as energetically as ever. A flicker of regret stirred in her, but when Killian obviously noticed her expression and acted like he wanted to say something inappropriate, Doc purposely cleared his throat.

"We're going to Tortuga, Captain ― we'll be back before the afternoon's out," he explained, rolling his eyes when the man adopted a knowing, devilish smirk and leaned against the railing, exhibiting his muscular figure unabashedly.

"Is that so?" he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest and gazing at them from underneath his eyelashes. "And where, may I ask, did you receive  _permission_  for such a venture, hmm? If I recall, you haven't asked me."

That was it. After all the trauma from last night and now his impudence this morning, Emma wanted to scream from frustration and stomp off the ship, if only to spite him.

"We're at port. And we want to go to town. You've been informed about our  _whereabouts_ ," she stated coolly, clinging to the belt around her waist from where her sword hung as she signaled Doc to descend with her down the ramp.

In an instant, Killian had jumped in front of her, blocking her path. "Emma, go with  _me_  ― no, let  _me_  come with  _you_ ," he corrected softly, moving his hands as if to place them on her shoulders but hesitating when he saw her flinch. His blue eyes were radiant and enthusiastic, his passion unguarded and willing her to accept it.

His offer was too tantalizing, making her silently communicate to Doc her desperation and uncertainty. He only shrugged in reply, hinting that she make the choice herself.

Biting her lower lip, Emma nervously fiddled with the large, blue hat covering her head and kept in mind the last task she had to complete before they set out to sea. Killian was behaving as if nothing had happened between them, though she found it impossible to do the same. They had to discuss what had been said and done, but if he was busy pretending there was nothing wrong, there was nothing she could do. She wouldn't apologize by herself.

Moreover, she was now worried he'd attempt to kiss her again when they would be alone again ― to make her see the error of her ways, or some drivel like that. But most of all, Emma knew this time she wouldn't be able to stop herself ― her nightmare had been proof of that. And she didn't want something bad to occur because she didn't have stronger will power.

The choice had made itself. Now she just had to tell them. Both of them.

"If it's all the same to you,  _Captain_ ," she started, pressing her lips together momentarily when she heard herself stutter, "I'll be going with Doc. Alone." What was she doing? First she had told Killian he was her friend, and now she was clinging to the doctor because she was questioning her own intentions about one very irritating pirate. This day was off to a bad beginning already.

She didn't see his grimace or his disappointment when he eventually responded, but she could sense it. "Very well. I expect you back no later than sunset."

Tilting her head in an imitation of thanks, she pushed past him effortlessly.

"Swan!"

Restraining the urge to peer back at him, she paused. She knew what would happen if she looked at him one more time: he'd melt her with his charisma and leave her begging him to accompany her. Like it or not, she had slept a night away from him ― they had been only hours apart ― and she was already missing him. It was strange ― too strange.

Killian's accented voice floated to her, making her yearn for much. Too much. "Nice hat," he grinned.

* * *

Listening for Doc's following footsteps, Emma stopped some distance down the pier, waiting for him to catch up.

When he reached her, he turned around purposely. Doc whistled lowly at the sight of Killian watching them from afar, still as a statue on the prow of the ship. "So...that went well," he sighed deeply.

Emma shoved her hands into her pockets, her scabbard bouncing against her hip as she paced. "He's avoiding the subject ― at this rate, it will take forever to get him to apologize so we can reconcile."

He laughed, ceasing when she glared at him. "Emma, you doubt yourself too much," he chuckled, motioning to her that they should continue.

As they walked in step with each other, Emma dared to inquire, "What do you mean, Doc?"

More and more people were joining them, all headed for the center of the city. However, the streets were not that crowded yet since it was so early.

Doc kept his expression neutral, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. "I haven't seen Killian so...alive in a long time. You've had more of an impact on him than you realize."

"Like prompting him to go to the nearest tavern after a stupid quarrel?"

Doc shook his head. "Killian's notorious for being impulsive and rash ― before he became captain, he got involved in a lot of bar fights. The violence on land gradually outdid him, so he resorted to saving his anger for the sea and pirating."

"But how could  _I_  have triggered his outbursts? I only asked about his sister, and he almost erupted in front of me!" Emma protested.

He stopped in his tracks. "Emma..." Doc called when she kept on walking. "Darlene is dead."

* * *

After looking around to make sure her actions were unnoticed, Emma slipped out a small money pouch, pouring out all the coins onto the palm of her hand and counting them carefully. Placing them securely inside the envelope, she folded it and then poured melted wax on top to seal it shut.

Handing the letter discreetly to Doc, he took it and gave it to the post collector, handing him some extra gold coins while insisting on its safe delivery. The old man merely grunted in reply, sneaking Emma's letter among many others inside one of the designated sacks by his side.

Hopefully, it would reach its destination ― and its recipient ― intact and on time.

* * *

Altogether, Tortuga was boring. Aside from its numerous shops, it was too new of a town to have anything else, besides squalid residences and an all-too thriving nightlife. Even now, disreputable women flaunted themselves in provocative dresses at male passersby, a few giggling when Emma rolled her eyes at a redhead blowing kisses at a very flustered Doc.

"That's all Tortuga has: too much alcohol, too many prostitutes, and too little virtue," she retorted, slowly eating the hand-sized meat pie the doctor had bought for her. He was chewing his own pie thoughtfully as well, his other hand supporting the thick strap of a rather large pack of medical supplies he was carrying on his back.

"The same could be said for most cities in the world, if not all," he replied after swallowing. "Tortuga just calls things by their right names."

Emma sighed, watching as a nearby soldier approached one of the harlots and slipped some coins into her hands while running his arm around her bust. "I can see that," she snorted, shaking her head and increasing her pace.

Doc gave her a look. "You're that eager to return to the  _Jolly Roger_?"

She stopped, facing him. "I'm tired of being  _here_ , in Tortuga," Emma admitted quietly, "and whether I like it or not, that ship's my new abode. I'm not going to fear Killian ― I owe him an explanation, as he owes me. What occurred between us last night is in the past ― and I won't let it change our friendship."

"You're quite certain about all that?" he challenged wryly, crumpling the parchment that held his pie and tossing it into the sewer.

Lifting her chin, Emma placed her hands on her hips. "I've been told I'm too determined for my own good ― and it's true. But if this trait is a flaw or not, it helps me to withstand the worst and wait for the best. I belong on the  _Jolly Roger_  ― call it the hand of fate or of God, we were meant to meet."

"The ship or its Captain?" he teased.

Grumbling under her breath, she waved away Doc's chuckles and went like an arrow in the direction of the harbor.

* * *

" _Darlene is dead?" Emma was staring at Doc with a horror-stricken expression._

_He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "It happened when Killian was about seventeen ― he never wanted to detail how it came about, but he did tell me his little sister was only seven years old when she passed away."_

" _He was there?"_

" _Indeed," Doc said sadly. "It was consumption, I believe. The doctor at hand had found out too late about her illness, so he was unable to save her."_

_She felt like crying. Killian had seen the same sight she had ― people they had loved had died in front of them, life and souls disappearing from their eyes. Like her, Killian was helplessly abandoned to be alone for the rest of his life._

_To bury them...mourn them...go on without them ― this, they understood. Killian and she ― they were survivors of love and of death. Yet another experience they had in common._

_She didn't even notice the doctor stand beside her and pat her back. "I think you remind him of Darlene."_

_Trying to smile, Emma bit back a muffled sob. "We looked similar?"_

_He nodded, his gaze distant. "Similar? According to Killian's descriptions, you have the same golden hair, same spirit, same heart ― and, most importantly, you desperately need someone to love you..."_

* * *

Emma stared up at the massive vessel, its polished wooden hull glistening from water and tinkering light. Its prow and stern were proportional, and the coloring throughout was downright artistic. No matter what company it held, it was truly a magnificent place to call home. But despite how alluring the  _Jolly Roger_  seemed to be, she had a feeling it was something else...or someone else...who truly had that effect on her.

Doc ascended the ramp first, heavily trudging upward as she cautiously followed behind. On first inspection, Killian was out of sight, the main deck clustered by groups of his men, sipping on rum and playing cards.

"I'm going to go find him," Doc gritted out, heading toward the captain's quarters. Meanwhile, Emma was becoming restless.

"Bother," she muttered, whipping off the hat that was her disguise in town and releasing her long golden locks.

She surely looked the part of a pirate now ― dark brown, heavily laced boots that climbed up to her knees, the wicked black corset constraining a light blue blouse, long fitting brown breeches, the locket lying around her neck... Hands on her belt and the hilt of her sword, she waited for Killian to appear in case Doc was wrong about his location. He had to be around here somewhere...

"Hello again, wench," sniggered Cutler, raising his mug of rum to her in a mock toast.

Him again. Emma smiled sweetly and strolled over to him leisurely, purposely swaying her hips. As expected, the men standing and sitting nearby were transfixed, Cutler included. When she was close enough to be in earshot, she smirked in what she thought was a fair imitation of Killian's trademark grin.

"Still getting over the fact that I won and you lost?" she enunciated, letting all her weight rest on one foot as she stood at ease.

Killian's first mate, Mr. Smee, burst into snickers that were silenced by a fierce glower from Smarty.

Cutler crossed his arms over his chest. "You actually think a little climbing makes you the victor? That you can just join ranks with us without another word?" He snarled like a mad dog, his tone acidic. "Think again,  _Swan_."

Killian had always said her surname in jest, sometimes with stern admonishment ― but Cutler drew out the syllable as if he wanted to destroy it.

Emma fingered her scabbard. There was a fight brewing here ― it may have everything to do with her or nothing at all, but the aggravation and tension were all too present. Still, it would be best not to provoke anyone ―  _let them bring the fight to you_ , whispered a knowing voice from the past.

"The Captain," she began carefully, "has allowed me to earn my keep in the manner as you do ― maintaining this ship. I know our initial acquaintance had a...rough beginning, but I see no reason why we can't get along companionably now."

Cutler leaned down until his face was right in front of hers. His skin was filthy, as if he had not washed it for a month or more. The stench rising from it wasn't tolerable either. "Earning your keep, eh?" he sneered. "Let's see you do it now ― be  _companionable_."

It happened so quickly Emma wasn't sure it had taken place at all. Cutler's hands were on her behind, cruelly yanking her toward him as his lips neared hers ― and at the rough contact, her reflexes had snapped from instant repulsion and fear.

One minute he was groping her ― the next she had thrust her knee into his groin. When he had still refused to let go of her, his hands cuffing her arms, she took advantage of the limited space between them and stepped on his foot. Grasping one of his hands firmly, she summoned enough inner force to propel herself forward and plant the sole of her right boot on his chest, instantly pushing and hitting back as hard as she could. The result was Cutler lying on the deck several feet away, sprawled down flat.

In accordance with his nickname, Smarty only stared at her warily before he rushed over to his friend's side to help him onto his feet again. Instead of accepting, Cutler angrily waved Smarty's hands away and shakily stood up, his expression murderous. When his hands clenched into fists and he started to approach her, Emma withdrew her sword, pointing it directly at him.

"Stay back," she hissed, adjusting her grip to become comfortable wielding the new blade. Strangely, it was balanced perfectly, as if made just for her, and its weight wasn't cumbersome ― two factors that would aid speed and agility during combat.

Cutler only smiled grimly before drawing his own sword. "No woman can beat a man in a swordfight ― and  _you_  have no chance against me,  _b_ _itch_ ," he spat, hefting it heavily before swinging it back and forth, initiating the fight.

She narrowed her eyes, choosing her position as wisely as she could. Facing the sun would be detrimental, so she let footwork slyly reverse their stances so that she had the light behind her and directly in his eyes. When Cutler clashed his sword with hers for the first time, Emma forgot about thinking ― she just  _moved_.

With death lurking at each step and Cutler's intentions far from friendly, strategy was Emma's primary focus. Her every stroke was predetermined, a sign of strength and intrinsic scheming. The man trying to kill her was a pirate worn by the sea, his mind muddled by excessive alcohol and rage ― and the key was to stay clear-headed and be observant, Emma chanted to herself as she met Cutler again and again, blow for blow.

However, it was very tiresome to keep eluding him ― after all, she had walked through Tortuga for hours non-stop ― and she almost wished he would bring the quarrel to a head. Moreover, the sun was far from setting, and its heat was distracting, tearing at her skin. The more Emma pressed on, her energy waxing and waning, the more furious Cutler became, his attacks frenzied and uneven. Soon the spar was a whirlwind of parries and lunges, the cacophonous clanging of metal against metal backed by the roars and cheering of the remaining men on deck.

Her eyes were adhered to his movements, the way he left his sides open and penetrable because he was too occupied with channeling his hate and trying to thrust his sword through her heart. And then the window of opportunity came: Cutler aimed for Emma's abdomen, and quick as a flash, she met him halfway, twisted her blade underneath his, and forced him to drop it. A slash appeared instantly on his wrist, the blood running swiftly down to his hand.

"Do you admit defeat?" Emma asked graciously, trying hard to stifle the grin spreading across her face as some of the crew shouted her name and applauded. The tip of her sword was at Cutler's neck, but when he said nothing, covering his wound with his other hand, she slowly lowered it.

Suddenly, he leaped forward. Before she could lift her sword, he had grabbed it with both hands, pulling it sharply toward him, and the force of his action caused Emma to let go of the hilt. Cutler had laughed loudly after tossing it out of her reach ― and then he really lunged, pinning her to the deck with his body and crushing her limbs.

"You see, blondie ― you may have fought honorably, but you can't win a fight with a pirate that way," he hissed into her ear.

Emma shuddered. She should have gone with Doc ― she should have listened to Killian, not picking fights with his crew. He was right: they'd never leave her alone, and they'd never accept her. Closing her eyes, she waited for the beating sure to come next.

"Let her go," commanded a dark voice imperiously, a clear threat in case of noncompliance oozing from his tone. Emma wanted to thank him, but her lungs were winded ― never had she wanted an interruption as much as she had wanted this one.

When Cutler still lay there motionless on top of her, not heeding the order, Killian grabbed him by the shoulders forcefully and threw him backwards onto the floor, kicking mercilessly at his face and legs when he tried to get up.

"Disobeying your Captain is equivalent to mutiny, Cutler ― and after you have already personally witnessed the consequences of such a choice, I highly doubt you'd desire to experience them yourself," he warned icily.

Looking around at the rest of crew, all eyes on him, Killian pulled out his own sword, waving it around dangerously. "And if any of you are foolish to repeat Cutler's mistake, you will earn a personal duel with me ― of which you already know the outcome," he finished menacingly, his gaze hooded.

Emma could only watch as Killian told Mr. Smee and Doc to tie up Cutler, who now had a bloody nose and wobbly legs, and take him to the brig for the night. The Captain's current demeanor was startling; she had never seen this authoritative and violent side of him before, which made her all the more anxious in her anticipation for him to finally acknowledge her presence. When the two offending men had disappeared, the eavesdropping crewmen were curtly dismissed and sent to complete their tasks on and below deck.

When Killian, still standing upright and sword uplifted, offered Emma his hand, she was frightened to take it, placing the flat of her hands on the deck instead to support her lying position. He must have noticed her hesitancy, because he quickly sheathed his blade and crouched by her side on one bent knee.

"Lass, come with me." When she winced at the command in his voice, he softened it. "Emma," he murmured, gently enfolding one of her wrists with his fingers, "let me help you." Staring at her earnestly, he gave her a warm, encouraging smile, his right hand outstretched once more. "I'll take care of you ― I promise. Come, let's go."

When she took his hand, he seemed to brighten, his hold steady as she gritted her teeth and tried to stand on her feet. Searching desperately for her sword, she limped slightly over to where it had landed after Cutler had thrown it, sliding it back into its scabbard.

Killian was right behind, looking her at admiringly. "You've never seen a woman fight before?" Emma asked, crossing her hands over her chest when he grinned widely.

"Actually, I'm impressed you held your own against Cutler for so long and then disarmed him. No one aboard this ship has been able to do that so far ― well, except me, naturally," he bragged.

Emma snorted disdainfully, peering at him sideways. "I may not know the name of every nautical object known to man, but I knew sword lessons were a must when Diane said we'd be pirates." When Killian raised a brow, she explained, "The first mate of the  _Titan_  was a trained swordsman, and he was gentleman enough to teach me. Satisfied?"

"Oh yes, Swan," he chuckled, licking his lips briefly, "I only have to see you and I'm  _satisfied_."

Ah, the Killian she knew was back from wherever he had hidden during the past day, lewd commentary fresh and up to speed. Emma rolled her eyes and began to pace towards the entrance to the lower deck, gasping loudly when she stepped on her right foot too roughly.

In an instant, he had his arms around her, guiding her body with his own. "Are you all right?"

She automatically wanted to pull away, but somehow, she didn't. "Why does everyone keep asking me that particular question?" she snapped, shaking her head. Blaming it on her exhaustion and how her hands were burning from pain, Emma leaned into Killian, refusing to move.

"Love, if you continue to do that, I'll be forced to take drastic measures," he whispered suggestively, nudging her forward with his hips. Emma ignored it, her eyes shut. Next thing she knew, her legs were swept out from under her and balanced by a strong arm, another curved around her lower back.

When she opened her eyes, it was to see a delighted Killian smirking very mischievously. Their faces were as close as they were last night, and out of worry that he would drop her, Emma unconsciously wrapped her hands around his neck. He probably expected her to squeal like a little girl and beg him to release her, but she wouldn't give him that pleasure. Instead, she clung to him, even daring to move in his arms until she felt comfortable there.

"What, no screams of outrage, lass?" Killian teased, looking very pleased with himself. When she only smiled and peeked at him from underneath her eyelashes, he appeared to be momentarily taken aback by her calm composure before beginning to walk, shifting his embrace a little as he carried her.

Emma bit her lip when he stared ahead while they descended below deck. When they were near his cabin, she decided that this avoidance had lasted long enough.

"Killian?" He finally glanced at her, his eyes inquiring. "I...I'm sorry." She nestled her head in the crook of his neck, feeling him swallow and his breaths increase afterwards. "Do you forgive me for last night?"

Not answering, he opened the door to his room, approaching his bed on entering. Taking a seat, he tried to place Emma next to him, but she didn't want to. She was more or less sitting on his lap, but she could care less about how improper it was. Her pride had always been an impediment to everything she did and wanted to do ― but it was invisible now.

All that mattered was that she had missed Killian and was enjoying the comfort of his arms, his protection. She felt so safe with him that she didn't want to leave...then how had she fled last night, when all he wanted was to be with her?

"Emma," he whispered, "why are you tormenting me? First you said how wrong it felt to be with me, and now you're in my arms as if that had never passed."

"It was wrong...at the time," she replied tentatively. "We were both not in our right minds, grieving over things of the past. Killian ― I like it here...with you."

Killian lifted her head so he could look into her eyes, his own disbelieving and pained. "To be honest, darling, when you left this morning, I wasn't sure you would return at all. After last night, you could have stayed in Tortuga without giving me another thought. What I can't understand is why you came back."

Caressing his hair, Emma half-smiled at him, recalling how he had kissed her. "At first when I came back to the  _Jolly Roger_  today, I thought  _it_  was home... But now...when you came and... _saved_  me...and I was so happy to see you...I realized the truth:  _you_  feel like home. And I don't want to leave ― not now, not ever."

"Don't say things you don't mean, Emma." He sounded broken and faded, his words cracking around the edges.

She pursed her lips. "You know my face well, so tell me: am I lying to you?"

He searched her expression, his gaze unfaltering. "No, you're not," he finally agreed, a smile growing on his face.

She had wanted his apology ― no, it had almost been a demand in her mind, and she had even told Doc about it, as if they were two spoiled children arguing over toys. But she wasn't a child anymore ― she was an adult. She had kissed Killian back all too eagerly, matching his fervor with her own, so how could she ask him to be sorry for something she wasn't sorry about at all? It had all started with Darlene...and now that she knew how that had ended, she wasn't surprised about Killian's reaction to that inquiry at all.

Emma wanted to kick herself ― all this morning, she had been brewing angrily over her remorse and emotions, only to find all of the conflict gone with the sunset and Killian's care.

Snuggling more closely, she gently disentangled herself from Killian's lap, climbing down to sit next to him and quietly unbuckle the belt that kept her sword before putting it on the ground. But she didn't let go of him, not for a moment, and he seemed to be humming approvingly, leaning his head down to rest against hers as she pulled him down to her.

"I forgive you, my darling," he uttered so softly that she almost didn't hear the words. "But can you forgive  _me_?"

She couldn't believe her ears, but what her body felt compelled to do next was even more incredible. It was foolish ― undoubtedly that and much more. Wasn't it this...impulse that had conjured up all this trouble? Emma fought inwardly with her common sense as she placed her hands on Killian's cheeks.

"You can consider this a 'yes'," she murmured as she pressed her lips against his gently. She wanted it to be chaste and sweet, the feelings she didn't know how to phrase transmitting through that simple touch. Last night had been intimidating ― but this was powerful and binding, and as soon as his mouth reciprocated, she kissed him a second time with the same reverence.

When they pulled apart, Killian sighed and ran a hand through his hair wearily. "Now that you've thoroughly confused me, I was meaning to ask you something."

"I'll stay in your room one more night before I find my own," Emma immediately answered, to which Killian chuckled in reply.

"No ― not that, though it did cross my mind ― I meant about the swordfighting."

"What of it?"

"Well...you have good instincts, love, and you're passionate, but...you need more practice. Your footwork is decent at best, and your strokes... I could teach you more, if you'd like." He gave her a shy, hopeful smile.

"Between swordfighting lessons, navigation instruction, and fighting off the crew single-handedly, how will I ever rest?" Emma mumbled.

Killian laughed. "You'll be fine ― with your spirit, you could take on the entire Spanish Main. Haven't I told you you'd make a hell of a pirate?"

"I look forward to it..." Her voice trailed off, her face settling against his chest as her eyes fluttered closed.

"Emma," he prodded, "what about dinner?"

"It can keep," she whispered, breathing deeply over his skin as his arms surrounded her. "For now, I'm not letting you go ― I've missed you too much."

She listened to him grin. "And I you, dear Emma."

It may have been minutes or hours before they drew apart and joined Doc, but as Emma exited the captain's quarters, her hand firmly in Killian's, she pictured only what was to come.

Their argument was over, and as murky and perplexing as their relationship was, it was still there, waiting to grow. By tomorrow, Tortuga would be distant ― the sea was welcoming them to stay and see more...be more.

Emma was ready for the next part of the journey. And fortunately, she would have Killian with her every step of the way, ready to catch her if she fell and stand by her when she rose.

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

"Raise the anchor!" Killian shouted sharply, watching as men climbed up the mast to lower the sails.

Emma stood by his side, her eyes repeatedly drawn back to how his hands touched the wheel. Everything about how he handled the helm ― his movements so sure and yet so light, every turn and jerk swift and knowing ― was heightening her motivation to learn all she could in order to be his helmsman. It could take a long time, and it certainly would be strenuous, keeping in mind all that information and utilizing it when needed ― but she had a feeling it would be worth it.

"Why Swan, could that ravishing smile be for me?" Killian was smirking, his gaze appraising and heated.

Startled by his remark, her smile faded and she sighed deeply, changing her footing in an effort to relieve her now sore legs. Turning her head to look out yet again at the land they were leaving behind, Emma felt an increasing sense of the urgency to escape.

"What if I cannot do this, Killian?" she whispered frantically. She was supposed to call him "Captain" in the presence of his crew, just as he was to call her "Swan" ― but she didn't have the will to adhere to formality when anxiety was rearing its head in her direction.

The previous night and this morning had proceeded at a fast pace, Killian occupied during most of both with preparations for their departure from Tortuga. Apart from that, he also had not said what was going to happen to Cutler and Smarty ― another thought that was worrying Emma to no end.

Killian leaned across the helm to touch her shoulder and pull her gently toward him. "You  _can_  do this ― I have complete faith in you, Emma," he declared confidently, smiling. When she couldn't bring herself to reply, still dejected, he huffed slightly in exasperation.

"Here, take the helm for a moment ― I have to oversee how the crew is managing." When Emma tried to protest, he cut her off with a wave of his hand, grinning as he placed her hands on the wheel and then backed away, almost jumping down the steps that led down to the main deck.

"But Captain―!"

"You'll do fine, Swan ― just guide her out of port and steer like I've already shown you!" Killian yelled back with an obnoxious wink before rapidly disappearing from sight.

Emma groaned inwardly ― of course he would do something like that, if only to force her to face her doubts one way or the other and thus rid her of them. Firmly grasping the jutting handles, she slowly turned them to the right, closing her eyes to hide from the awful responsibility of the moment.

When she carefully opened one eye first to assess her surroundings, it was to see that ship had not crashed into the pier as according to her fears ― no, it was actually moving to the right, the rudders beneath the hull responding to her touch. When it had made a full ninety degree turn, Emma quickly steered the wheel back to its original position, her limbs shaking.

She was frightened and excited all at once ― to finally sail the  _Jolly Roger_ , in any capacity, was exhilarating and stunning. They were finally on their way to adventure, but she had never imagined she would have a part in helping them literally reach it.

Grinning, Emma held the wheel tighter and peered at the horizon, the sun rising in time with the oncoming tide. She could get used to this.

* * *

"So you're the new helmsman?"

Emma nearly dropped the roll of bread that was her midday meal on hearing the deep rough voice address her. Turning, she noticed a burly-looking man eyeing her from top to bottom. He looked much older than Killian, and his head barely reached up to her neck. Still, he appeared to be strong, his deeply lined, bearded face looking as if it were carved from stone.

On seeing her reluctance to answer, the pirate took off his broad cap respectfully and dropped his arms to his sides. "I saw you lead the  _Jolly_  out of Tortuga ― you're the girl who took on Cutler yesterday, ain't ya?"

She restrained a snort. "Are there any  _other_  women on this ship?"

He seemed to really consider that, fingering his beard momentarily. "Won't know for certain till we're far at sea and there's time to check for stowaways ― but yes, for now, you're the only  _visible_  girl on board."

Emma nearly laughed at his expression, so serious and mischievous at the same time. "You saw the fight?" she asked, almost juggling her roll.

"Saw it? I was there,  _living_  it," he exclaimed. "I tried to kick Cutler's ass a while ago, but he cheated and beat me ― knocked me out and left my ribs cracked. Finally, he gets what's coming to him and is whupped ― by a woman, no less. And what a woman, at that." The man was staring at her, but his gaze was devoid of lust or contempt. Instead, he was looking as admiringly as Killian had when he had acknowledged her victory.

Smiling and no longer afraid, Emma held out her hand to him. "I'm Emma ― Emma Swan."

Grabbing it, the pirate shook her hand hard. "Leroy, but the boys call me Grumpy most of the time. It's the face," he explained. Shuffling his feet, he crossed his arms over his chest. "So with moves like that, you going to be staying on? 'Cause if Cutler is going to stick around, heaven help us all when he strikes back."

When Emma gave him a bewildered glance, he shrugged. "None of the men really like him ― Smarty's decent, when he means to be, but Cutler's temper is out of control. He just loves picking on me and Smee, for instance ― but now that you're here, the scab's got tough new competition."

"That just sounds bloody marvelous," she grumbled, her hand automatically going to the hilt of her sword.

"Hey, the way you wound him up and smacked him down  _was_  bloody marvelous ― and we're all dying to see you do it again," Leroy chuckled, his grin shark-like.

Emma let the proud smile on her face lengthen. "You really think I have a chance here?" she asked, wondering how deep his compliment went in way of genuine belief.

Leroy slapped the top of the railing emphatically, nearly crushing his own roll with his other hand. "A chance? Swan, you've got real sass and the guts to back it up ― so don't underestimate yourself. Alright, I admit that at first I was blown by the Capt'n saying a girl was going to join the crew ― but after that mount to the crow's nest and yesterday's tumble, you've proved you ain't no ordinary girl."

Emma's incredulity incited him to continue. "All you've got to do now is hold on and see this out ― believe it or not, us pirates are real struck by endurance. Pull through," he insisted turbulently, "and you're in."

* * *

_Getting accepted on the_ Titan _had been far from easy. In fact, it was a horrendous experience from beginning to end. Diane had been teased constantly about her fondness for wearing dresses, and Emma had been taunted repeatedly about dressing like a man. No matter what they did, there was trouble._

" _Hey, join me for a round, pretty girl?" Catcalls and whistles resounded across the deck as Pointer rolled his hips provocatively at Emma when she and Diane walked by on their way to their chambers._

_She sneered back, "Careful, Pointer ― with your sense of direction, you'll probably walk the plank in your sleep tonight after one drink."_

_The rest of the crew burst into laughter, but Pointer's face turned bright red._

" _You think you're so smart, don't you, Swan? Well, how 'bout your lady friend here ― is she interested in a bit of rum and a swell man?" He was about to grab Diane's arm before Emma slapped it away, mortified and furious._

" _Don't you dare touch her, you imbecile," she snarled. Diane trembled at first, but then she stepped forward, getting directly in Pointer's face._

" _Stay away from both of us, you bloody coward, or there will be hell to pay." Her eyes were flashing proudly, her posture defiant._

 _It appeared that Pointer was going to retaliate, his hands raised, but then the first mate of the_ Titan _, Mr. Maserton, breached the small space between them._

" _Back off, Pointer ― you still have work to do." His gray whiskers and mustache positively bristled as he glared down at the man, who was now as diminutive as possible._

" _Aye, sir," he stuttered, retreating to his post. The few men surrounding Emma and Diane scattered soon afterward, not daring to cross Maserton further._

_When the first mate turned to them, his stern expression melted and he gave them a soft smile. "You'll have to be more careful, ladies ― they're rough and ready to fling insults at you and rile you up." Tilting his head, he examined their mutual confrontational stance. "The first option is to ignore them ― they're not worth your energy."_

" _But if they won't stop?" Emma demanded as he marched toward the captain's quarters._

_Maserton paused, contemplating his answer. "I never said there wasn't another option."_

* * *

"That's it, Swan ― nice and easy, now." Killian gave Emma a teasing grin before launching his blade leisurely. His attacks were so graceful and relaxed that after a week of training with him like this, she was still questioning which was more dangerous, Cutler's dramatic onslaught and frequent blundering or the Captain's sneaky parries and his lightning-quick blows.

Cutler himself had been released from the brig with a heavy warning, and in punishment, he was forced to duel with her when she needed the practice ― only now, he had to wield a  _wooden_  sword to her metal blade. Other than that, he was staying as far away from her as possible.

When she almost stumbled in her haste to avoid his sudden lunge and adjust her footwork, Killian chuckled. "Lass, pay attention to an expert, eh? Watch how I move, how I hold my sword."

Emma breathed hard, her gaze following his every motion accordingly. When he caught her eyes tracing his outline, he smirked but didn't comment. Instead, what he did was much worse.

Beginning to remove his shirt, he excused himself by muttering nonchalantly, "It's so damn hot, even with the wind blowing..."

Her jaw dropped open from surprise on seeing him accomplish what he had started. Standing in front of her bare-chested, Killian threw his shirt to the side and only smiled devastatingly, ignoring Emma's flustered response and widened stare.

"Ready, Swan?" he goaded, flaunting his muscles by tightening his grip on his sword and standing straight to face her.

Her eyes narrowed. He wasn't going to distract her with that trick ― she was undeterred to win. Sheathing her sword, she unbuttoned the top of her shirt until where it was covered up by the black corset. Sweeping her hair to the side, Emma raised a brow, half-smiling as she withdrew her blade again.

"Always," she stated, secretly enjoying Killian's reaction to her display while she posed, prepared to fight. Shaking himself out of his daze, he ventured closer, his steps lithe and practiced.

"How about a wager, darling?" he suggested as they circled each other, Emma glancing down every so often to measure her footwork in comparison to Killian's.

When she strode forward and struck a blow at his side, he parried it deftly and pushed her back.

"What kind of wager?" she grimaced. He was slashing his sword so rapidly against hers that she had a difficult time in meeting it and predicting his next move.

Killian grinned wickedly, licking his lips while he perused her figure. "Oh, the usual ― if you win, I owe you a favor. If I win...well, you'll owe me a favor." The way he said the last word made Emma shiver ― what the hell was he up to?

She lunged at him, but he blocked her, claiming his stake as the offensive opponent. With every calculated maneuver, he was fervently pressing her to defend herself.

"What do you want, Captain?" Emma ducked and dodged his sweeps at her head and legs.

Suddenly, they were face to face, their swords locked against each other as they wrestled to gain the upper hand. "Oh, afraid of a challenge, Swan? As for what I want, there will be time for discussing that...later," he promised teasingly before disengaging himself and stepping back.

Emma panted, flourishing her blade in the air. "Fine. I have your word on that?"

"Indeed." In an instant, Killian had taken advantage of her state of rest and had forced her down onto the deck, leaving her speechless and open-mouthed.

"How the hell did you do that?" she sputtered.

"It's simple, lass ― you were not paying attention." He towered over Emma, bringing his sword slowly down hers so that the edges clashed and screeched quietly. Almost straddling her hips, Killian looked down smugly at her.

"Normally, I prefer to do more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back, but with my life on the line, you've left me no choice," he purred. "Care to surrender?"

Emma took note of their position, a smirk on her lips. "Why would I do that," she retorted as she pulled her legs forward, "when I'm winning?"

Pushing her feet against his chest, she pummeled him backwards, releasing herself. But Killian caught a retreating foot with his left hand, yanking her toward him. "Good form, Swan...but not good enough!"

Using his grip on her leg, he dropped her on the deck once more, snapping the sword out of her hands with one flick of his wrist. Quickly, he lowered himself until his knees were resting on either side of her thighs, his hands pinning her arms down. When Emma struggled in his grip, he bent until his lips were by her ear, whispering, "You're getting better and better, Emma ― but this time, you lost."

Gritting her teeth, she winced on realizing she couldn't move under his hold. "Let go of me, Killian."

"As my lady wishes," he replied sultrily, brushing his lips briefly against her exposed neck while slowly rising. Taking his outstretched hand, Emma brushed herself off immediately when she was standing again, making an effort to not look at Killian.

"Since I won, Swan, you are in my debt." He was inspecting his sword, holding it at different angles in the light to see it better. When he was finished, he placed it back in its scabbard, the pointed end hitting the bottom with a defined thud.

"And how am I going to fulfill that debt?" Emma inquired, sheathing her sword as well before leaning against the railing to rest.

She could hear Killian pace towards her, not stopping until he was right next to her, eyeing her body hungrily. "Undress," he murmured huskily.

"What?"

"Yes, you heard correctly ― undress for me, in my cabin, and the debt is settled."

Emma gaped at him in shock. "You're ― you cannot be serious."

"I'm very serious." He raised a brow seductively, crossing his arms against his still bare chest. "Unless you'd prefer for me to hold that favor in check for another time?"

Ah, so that was his game, was it? She leaned in until their noses were almost touching, registering his sharp intake of breath. "Just because  _you_  have some kind of fascination with nudity," she whispered, her eyes flickering between his mouth and his heaving chest, "doesn't mean that  _I_  share it."

Pulling away gradually, she watched in amusement while he regained his composure, his smirk gone. He looked so boyish in that moment, bemused and unsure how to act.

Emma cleared her throat, a half-smile playing on her lips. "My answer is 'no', Captain ― but by all means, keep the favor." Bowing her head in a semi-mocking nod, she turned around and began to strut toward the mast, exhaling in relief and not glancing back at him.

Now seemed to be a very good time to re-visit the crow's nest...

* * *

Emma laughed so hard she almost choked on the water she was drinking. "You're jesting ― I don't believe it!"

Leroy crossed his arms, huffing in mock frustration. "You doubt my word, Swan?" When she gave him a half-hearted shrug, he pouted, earning more of her giggles. Slowly, he smiled and chortled along with her, patting her on the back when she started coughing.

"Careful ― you'll choke on air if you don't get serious soon," he admonished, grinning wryly when Emma covered her mouth with her hand and waved away his concerns in a silent apology.

"Alright, no more funny business, then," she managed to get out. "Tell me why you really became a pirate ― being a miner couldn't have been that dreadful."

Leroy snorted. "Oh sure, it was glorious ― I was the king of the rock diggers, sooty and grimy from day to night and night to day. And best yet, when I came to my hole of a home, no one was waiting for me but my six brothers."

Emma bit her lower lip, worried she had gone too far. Of all the crew, Leroy was being especially kind to her. She was on deck during sunlight every single day, but when Killian wasn't teaching her how to man the helm or improve her prowess with a blade, she was busy learning about every part of the ship and how they operated as a whole. He had told her he wanted to spend as much time with her as he could, but he still had many obligations to his crew and his "girl," as he often affectionately called the  _Jolly Roger_.

Whenever Leroy passed by her, he paused in his own duties to ask if she needed any help, and though he always pretended he was irked by it, he would reiterate to her the names of the various ropes and structures when she forgot them. He acted grumpy most of the time, but Emma personally thought he, like Killian, was hiding behind a personality he had created for his own protection. She knew that he would defend her, if need be.

"You listening, Swan?" Grumpy's voice broke her out of her musings.

"Sorry ― I―"

He frowned sternly and then grinned, his expression decidedly mischievous. "I'm toying with you ― I just finished my meal while you were out to 'wonder'-land, so my tongue was occupied."

Emma smirked. "For a man who claims to dislike talking, you certainly use it a lot."

Leroy rolled his eyes. "You want to hear my tale or not?"

Resting her head against her hand, she propped her elbow on her lap. "Is it sad?"

"No," he retorted defensively. After a moment, his face and voice softened, the change striking.

"Well, maybe a little... I was working hard, only having my brothers for company, but one day, I bumped into a woman on my way to the mines." Leroy was peering at his enfolded hands, apparently transfixed by the sight. "She was the prettiest thing I had ever seen ― and after I helped her pick up the books she dropped on the ground, she told me her name was Astrid.

"I kept wanting to see her again ― hell, I even went to church every Sunday for a month, hoping I'll find her there. And then...I did. She was with the nuns ― and when I ran like a fool to her side when the service was over, it was to hear 'Mother Superior'," he snarled in disgust, "snidely inform me that the girl was a novice."

"And that was the last time you saw her?" she replied, her attention caught.

He grimaced, saying, "That would have been less painful, but no. You see, Swan, I was so full of dreams about me and Astrid, I even convinced myself to sneak into the convent and speak to my girl alone. I asked her to run away with me, to break free and travel the world with me. And you know what? Amazingly, she agreed." A smile lit up his face before it was darkened by a scowl. "And that's when―"

"You were married?" Emma interrupted.

Instead of snapping at her, Leroy settled his face in his hands, rubbing his skin tiredly. "If only. No, it was much worse."

" _Worse_?"

"Yeah...I got caught. The 'Mother' herself tracked me down after work one afternoon before we were planning to elope. I found out Astrid was an orphan, raised by the nuns since she was a babe...and to top it off, I was begged to leave the girl to her 'promising vocation'. And how couldn't I, after she made me feel so sorry for her? So when Astrid and I were going to meet ― to leave our drab town ― I...I told her she was better off without me ― that I wouldn't go."

Emma knew her mouth was open, but she was still too absorbed by shock to close it. "But Leroy..." she responded, feeling drained, "...you...you broke her heart."

Squeezing his cap in his hands, he sighed. "I know...but I wanted the best for her...and it wasn't me."

Hoping she wasn't being too forward, she placed her hand on top of his clasped ones. "So that's why you shipped out to sea ― that's why you're Grumpy, hmm? You still miss her, despite everything?"

"Yes," Leroy replied, his tone strained, "but I've learned a lot since then. I've been with many crews, but I like the  _Jolly_ , and the Captain's a decent pirate when all's said and done. In the end, even though maybe Astrid and I were meant to be...we weren't meant to be  _together_."

Feeling his heartbreak, Emma looked down, unable to speak. To find that kind of connection and then be forced to let it go...she couldn't imagine sacrificing love for anything.

Wiping at his eyes, he inhaled noisily and cleared his throat, withdrawing his hands and slipping them in his pockets. "Now don't go feeling sorry for me, Swan ― 'cause the truth is...I may regret the past, but I'm stuck in the present, and there ain't no going back," Leroy rebuked as he stood up and began to walk toward the stern.

"But, Grumpy," she called out, "you're in pain."

He turned, his smile hard. "But, Emma, I need my pain ― it makes me who I am."

* * *

Killian gripped the end of his spyglass, checking again to be certain he was seeing the right image. No, there was no doubt about it ― that was a merchant vessel, and it was headed straight toward them.

"Hoist the colors!" Jumping down from the helm, he nearly ran across the deck, yelling out commands. "To your battle stations, mates ― on the double! Ready the cannons!"

When Mr. Smee finally stood in front of him, panting heavily, he had already crossed over to the rigging and climbed up to get a better view of their oncoming opponent. "What are your orders, Captain?" his first mate timidly questioned.

Grinning darkly, Killian lay a hand on his sword. "Let's give our guests a warm welcome, shall we?"

* * *

Emma was having tea with Doc in the surgeon's quarters when the first of the cannon fire rumbled. Almost tossed from her chair, she rose to her feet quickly, pushed into the doctor by the rapidly swaying ship and the impact of incoming cannon shots.

"What's going on?" she screamed, covering her ears when the cannons erupted again in succession.

Doc was rushing to the door, pulling her by the hand. "Isn't it obvious? We're under attack ― or the other way around!"

Emma cringed as they raced up to the main deck, the roar of the cannons growing louder and louder like a host of angry dragons.

Killian was steadfast by the helm while half of his crew pulled at the sails and ropes frantically, striving to adjust them as quickly as possible. Squinting, she could make out the shape of an approaching ship in the distance, becoming clearer and clearer the faster the wind blew.

"The other men must all be by the cannons ― I better prepare for casualties," Doc explained as he descended back down. Should she stay or follow?

"Swan!" The Captain was beckoning to her with his hand. When she drew near him, Emma visibly shuddered on seeing the thirst and craving in his gaze, his smirk almost deadly. She suddenly was terrified of what was to come ― she had seen pirates fight before, true, but it had been brief and incomplete. Killian looked like he was ready to wage war.

"Captain, what's happening?" she whispered, longing to hide. This didn't feel exciting at all ― the thunderous beat of death in her ears, the thrill of the conflict to come, cold indifference clashing with the hot fever of anticipation. Anyone and everyone could perish in the blink of an eye, and in the end, no amount of gold gained would buy their lives back.

"We're going to play with that scum over there," he hissed under his breath, turning and twisting the wheel to the left and right. "Emma," Killian uttered lowly, peering at her intently, "you should go to my cabin ― it's the safest room in the entire ship..."

And then anger came, clamorous and demanding. All her fears that she wouldn't be adequate enough, that her skills were lacking, clambered to the surface and broke loose. "No," she snapped, "I'm not going to pace below deck while men die above my head. I want to help."

His expression became stormy and undaunted. "Swan, you've only been practicing at the helm for a month now ― and that was under ideal conditions! To entrust you with not crashing us during battle―"

She pointed out, "You said once that you trusted me completely, Captain!" Lowering her voice again, she added imploringly, "Killian, we fight together ― I'm not leaving your side, no matter what you say by way of excuse."

Killian's eyes were clouded, the emotion there unreadable. Still, his lips were upturned by the end of her statement, and there was a spark of satisfaction in his face when he started to nod in agreement.

Everything until that moment was clear and piercing ― and then the sun seemed to be covered in haze and the sky darkened as motion slowed down and reality appeared to be surreal.

Before Killian could say anything else to her, there was a fierce crash on his right side, by the railing. Wood splintered in all directions, and the minute the cannonball rolled along the deck, it blew up in a mass of flame, its force close enough to knock Emma down.

Covering her head with her arms instinctively, she only released herself when she heard complete silence. The smoke was dissipating, and when she turned, she saw Killian lying on the ground next her, unconscious.

"No... _no_ , you can't die," she uttered between gritted teeth as she began to shake him, pleading quietly that he would awaken and still her pounding heart. But he didn't move.

* * *

_Just when the captain was about to stab them with his sword, the_ Challenger _was tossed about on the waves violently, as if an earthquake had caused the waves to ripple._

 _A pirate ship was gliding toward them at ramming speed, the prow so pointed that it looked like a lance ready to penetrate the heart of the_ Challenger _. Cannon fire struck the sides and the top, and the next second was a crackle of tension as the captain ran to the helm and the crew hesitantly followed, all now desperate to just survive..._

* * *

Panic took hold, digging its gnarled fingers into Emma's back and her senses as the ship began to stride crookedly to the left. If the enemy took advantage of the confusion... She inhaled, grabbing the spinning wheel and steadying it as Killian had shown her. Cautiously avoiding the gunfire, she led the  _Jolly Roger_  in the direction of the advancing ship, which was so close now that she could see the mahogany wood and dirty sails. They didn't  _look_  valuable enough to pillage...

On hearing a deep groan, Emma dropped down from the helm and knelt by Killian. Eventually, he stirred, his blue eyes fluttering open.

"Hey, beautiful," he half-grinned, reaching out to caress her face with his fingertips. Overcome by relief and worry, Emma hysterical cried out his name, the sound half-strangled by her coughs and desperate gulps of air. Pulling on his arms, she helped him to get to his feet.

"Well, onto the show," Killian muttered, glaring at the missing portion of the side deck torn away by the explosion. Wincing as he limped back to the helm, one of his hand clutched reflexively at his shoulder.

Emma started to take off his leather jacket, leaning down to tear off a piece of fabric from her now hanging blouse. "You're hurt," she said softly, waves of concern impeding her judgment. He pressed her hands away, but on seeing her crestfallen face, he gently kissed each of her palms.

"Not now, love ― I've got a merchant fish to catch." He grinned manically, his injuries forgotten and brushed to the side in light of a possible victory. "Go down, love ― Doc will need you."

As the boom of their exodus screeched in her ears, Emma shook her head despairingly as she descended down the ramp to the lower deck. Killian's command of "Cannons, FIRE!" was the last thing she heard before gratefully entering the cool darkness below.

* * *

"Crippled as a bird with broken wings, I tell you," Killian boasted to Mr. Smee as he observed the spoils his men were carrying into the storage room of the  _Jolly Roger_. "After we split their mast in two, they didn't stand a chance."

As he exited confidently, he ordered his first mate to be on the lookout. "And be sure to lock the captain and his crew in their own brig ― I don't need an uprising on my own ship."

Traveling the hallway and pushing the door to his cabin forcefully, his hopes crashed when he realized that the interior was empty of his Swan. But there were only so many places where she could be...

He didn't even have to knock before making his way into Doc's room, the entrance wide open. Nearly ten of his crew littered the floor, bleeding wounds wrapped in bandages and the rest of their bodies covered by blankets. As he had suspected, Emma was by Doc's side, handing him water as he nursed one of the men by applying a cold compress to his head.

"You're going to live, Tom ― just think of that and try to rest, all right?" he quietly recited, nodding at Emma. She went to place the water pitcher and basin on the table, setting them down before she turned and finally noticed Killian lurking in the doorway.

He motioned to her, wanting her to leave with him. She glanced at Doc, who was sitting by his desk now and watching over his resting patients, before walking towards him. Threading his fingers through hers, Killian guided her to his cabin.

"I think a celebration is in order, lass ― not only did we win with a few losses, we have more cargo to barter and gold to spend than we've salvaged in the past six months." She said nothing in reply, her eyes downcast.

Emma hurried to light candles throughout the room as he sat wearily on the bed. Pouring water into the basin on the washstand and then into a cup, she went to hand him the cup, returning afterwards to the table to soak a rag in the basin and squeeze out the excess liquid. Carefully sitting next to him, she concentrated deeply as she wiped away the blood from his forehead and cleaned the gashes on his face.

He couldn't stop looking at her. She pursed her lips when she accidentally smudged some debris on his cheek and then had to clean it as well. Green sparkled and glinted in the dim light as she stared at him, her vision running over his form. She was silent, but her resolve was piercing.

When her hand brushed over his left shoulder, he groaned, reluctantly shrugging out of his jacket with her help. The skin near his collarbone was bruised almost black, cuts lining up below his throat and down to his chest.

"You'll have to take off your shirt as well ― lie down for me?" Emma suggested, blushing when he smoldered in reply.

"All this time, you only had to ask in order to receive, my dear Emma." Baring his teeth from pain as he stripped himself of the dirtied and bloodied garment, Killian stretched himself comfortably on the bed.

When she saw his boots hanging on the side, she tsked and adeptly pulled them off, pushing his feet onto the covers. The basin was now on his bedside table, and as she rose to submerge the rag again, he could see the contours of her arms and upper torso through her sheer white blouse.

Emma seemed afraid to touch him, hesitating every time she drew her hand with the cloth across his skin. The cool sensation was easing away his agony, the burning and sting of each open wound ceasing. Slowly, she dressed them with soft white cloth, her gaze never meeting his.

When she was finished, she moved away as if to leave, but he snagged her hand with his own and kept her there. Her golden hair was shining in the candlelight, her fair skin now golden and her lips naturally rosy pink. She was so beautiful and so pure...truly like an angel...

"I'm not, you know," she responded.

He started ― had he said that aloud? "But you are," he repeated, "you're my guardian angel."

She shook her head, but a small smile was now on her face. "Charming to the bitter end, aren't you?" she teased lightly, dropping the rag into the basin and not retrieving it.

"I'm pleased you find me so, Emma ― but this is far from the end, darling," he smirked, raising her hand to his lips and kissing her fingers.

"Killian..." she whispered, trying to pull away. He only grabbed her other hand in reply, preventing her escape.

"I'd like to claim that favor now, if I may." The intensity in his voice surprised him ― her close proximity was driving him mad, heating his blood and leaving him senseless.

He was falling ― quite passionately ― and strangely, he liked it. Though he had never wanted that feeling to return, it had sneaked in and taken refuge...and he was  _glad_  of it.

She bit her lower lip, peeking at him from underneath her eyelashes. "And it is?"

His smile disappeared in the midst of puzzling shyness. "A kiss."

Emma blushed again. "That's the favor you want from me?"

"Did you have something else in mind, darling?" he spoke quietly, raising a brow when she shied away, evidently embarrassed.

"What did you do with it ― the ship you captured?" she whispered, looking tentatively up at him.

Killian stroked her hands with his own. Emma cared so much about doing what was right, even though she was so determined to make a place for herself among pirates, that he felt almost ashamed of himself, like when he was a boy stealing pastries from the kitchen.

"We stripped it bare ― but I let them be," he said consolingly. "We left them and the ship behind."

"With no supplies ― no food or water?"

"I'm not cruel, lass ― they have enough rations until the damn Navy finds them and ushers them back home." Did she think him so heartless?

Then Emma half-smiled at him, returning his caresses slowly, and his rising anger and hurt vanished.

"I almost thought I lost you today... Was it worth your life ― the killing, the plunder...any of it?" She was studying his face, her eyes glowing. They were swallowing him whole, persuading him to throw restraint to the wind blowing through the open window of his chambers.

"I'm not going anywhere without you, Emma," he murmured before he slipped a hand around her neck and tangled another in her hair, pulling her down to him firmly.

She reacted almost instantly, her hands crawling up his chest as she kissed him back, her mouth tasting heavenly. It was strong and deep and sure, this bond they had ― and it didn't end when she let go, the palm of her hand on the side of his face as she pressed a kiss to his forehead. Standing upright, she covered him with the blankets resting on the end of his bed.

"Don't go." The words came before he could stop them.

Emma smiled at him. "But my favor is complete, Captain."

Is that all the kiss was to her ― payment? "Don't tell me that kiss didn't mean more to you than that, darling," he growled. The timbre of his voice was inviting and accusing all at once, striking at her in an effort to rouse the truth.

"Killian..." She leaned down, staring at him intensely. "Sometimes, you nag too much."

He chuckled. "I want to know what you feel, lass ― is that  _too much_  to ask?"

Tilting her head, she searched his gaze before kneeling down on the surface of the bed. Unbuckling the swordbelt hanging around her waist and dropping it to the floor, she proceeded to remove her boots. Then, to his astonishment, she lay down by his side.

He smirked, "I said 'stay,' not 'stay in my bed,' Swan."

"Move over, Captain," she countered, "or I'll be sleeping on the floor instead."

As he slid slowly to the left, she nestled next to him, her head leaning against his uninjured shoulder as her arm encircled his waist. He bit back a smile, his arm holding her closer.

Now, he could fall asleep.

* * *

Emma raised her head, trying hard not to awaken Killian as she leaned over to peek at him and ensure he was all right. He was beautiful, every hidden emotion brought to the surface as he slept. He was many things, and all of them kept entrancing her.

Falling back down on the bed but unable to sleep, she found solace in his even breathing while she wondered how her heart could feel so full when her body felt so light.

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

The vibrant thrumming beneath her ear was partially the reason why she awakened, the other being the feel of a gentle hand caressing her back, a light touch along her forehead and her hair.

Emma twisted her head slightly, a necklace entangling in her curls as she realized one side of her face was pressed against uncovered skin.  _Killian's chest_.

"Ah, you're finally awake." His rich brogue tickled her hearing, reminding her of how near they were physically. Fleetingly, a part of her mind whispered that she should move away ― run away, as far and as fast as she could. But the rest of her wanted to stay.

"How did you know?" she mumbled, not daring to shift her arms, which were clinging to him with all their might.

Killian continued his soft stroking, not hesitating for an instant. "Your breathing changed," he said simply.

He could distinguish the differences between the rhythms? Emma closed her eyes, concentrating on his heartbeat. Hadn't she repeated frequently to herself how wrong it was ― and always would be ― for her to sleep in his bed and lie next to him...only to yield when he was injured and her compassion rose to the surface? Damn, damn,  _damn_.

"'Tis strange, lass, but...I haven't been this close to another living being in a long time." His hands were working slowly across her skin...

"What about your drunken night in Tortuga ― no cavorting with all your female acquaintances there?"

Killian chuckled deeply. "Oh, someone's jealous..."

The weight of the pendants and cross against her head brought her curiosity back to life, chasing away the retort on her tongue. "The crucifix...it was Darlene's, wasn't it?"

His breathing now erratic, Killian took a moment to reply. "Yes...my mother gave it to her when she was christened. It's the only item I have left...from both of them."

Emma gently removed herself from his embrace to look up at him, balancing herself on the palms of her hands. "Killian," she murmured, "Doc told me about what happened to Darlene―"

"―and now you understand why I'd rather not speak of it," he cut her off abruptly, turning his head to the side.

She guided his face back to her, attempting to catch his eyes when they darted downward. "You don't have to hide your pain ― not from me, at least." He ignored her request, keeping silent.

One of his hands had edged upward to grip her waist, the other drifting along the fabric of her blouse and delineating her curves. "Tell me, darling," Killian huskily intoned, "have you ever been in love?"

When he smirked mischievously and brushed his thumb over her breast, Emma bit back a gasp, straining to grasp his fingers and remove them from their current placement. "No, I have never been in love," she gritted out, pulling his right hand away from its hold on her hip. Even though the corsets, underneath and on top, were thick enough to conceal  _everything_ , she could still feel the trace of him on her skin.

When she finally managed to restrain his wandering arm by pushing it down to the bed, she saw the back of his wrist. Why she had not noticed that before was beyond her, but there it was, in bright red and deep black. "Who's 'Milah,' on the tattoo?"

Killian's playful grin was wiped away at once, his head dipping down to peer at what Emma had pointed out. Pausing, he seemed to choose his answer very carefully. "Someone from long ago," he uttered, his voice impregnable and forbidding.

When he looked away from her again, his gaze directed at the wall, Emma sighed, waiting for a moment before she let go of his arm and rose from the bed. Padding over on bare feet to his cabinet, she fetched a flask of rum she had long since discovered was stored there, reaching for fresh cloth as well and resting the two on his desk.

Purposely busying her hands, she rearranged objects scattered here and there while she pondered who Milah really was. A relative...a friend...or an old lover? Killian's reaction to the mention of her name was striking and unfamiliar ― he had never been withdrawn like that before, especially not in front of her.

"You loved her, didn't you?" she whispered, still leaning over the table and not daring to peek at him. She heard the bed creak and his low footfalls as he walked. Suddenly, his arms surrounded her waist, his head nesting in the crook of her neck as his front pressed against her back.

"For someone who's never been in love, you're quite perceptive. Emma... _she_  doesn't matter anymore," he explained haggardly, "so please...please don't ask me about her."

Covering his hands with her own to complete their embrace, Emma shuddered when he left tender kisses up and down her throat. Deftly spinning around in his arms, she caressed his cheek, his eyes closing at the sensation.  _One day, Killian Jones_ , she thought,  _you'll tell me about Milah...about yourself. You'll open the doors all the way and never shut them closed._

Gently disengaging herself, she took him by the hand and led him back to the bed, instructing him to sit down. With the flask in one hand and the cloth in her other, she poured rum until it soaked the white material, biting her lip as she began to gradually draw away the bandages that had adhered to his wet wounds during the night. Wincing every time he hissed in pain, she dabbed the cuts with the now yellow cloth, relieved that most of the abrasions had already started to close.

"This way," she said quietly, more to herself than to him, "they shouldn't get infected and Doc won't blame  _me_  if they actually do."

Killian smiled at her as she re-bandaged the affected areas. "Is there anything you can't do, love?"

"Well, I've always wanted to play the piano, but that dream will surely never come true." When he lifted his brow in reply, Emma shrugged nonchalantly. "I didn't have a chance to learn ― and besides, what man these days would teach a woman how to play an instrument, let alone one that only the rich could afford to have?"

"Maybe," he suggested, "you've known the wrong men all this time, lass." When she chuckled, he hurriedly corrected, "No, I meant ― you need to find the right man."

"The right man?" She tsked. "That phrase sounds more suited to a husband than a teacher."

Listening to her own response, she realized too late what she had said and tried to take it back, but Killian was already grinning. "Right on topic, darling ― the question I was just meaning to pose to you. Why haven't you married, hmm? A beautiful, clever woman like yourself has had many suitors, surely."

Tugging the knot of one of his bandages a little too sharply, a movement that made him growl under his breath, Emma rolled her eyes while she stood up.

"Don't tease me, Killian ― I was fifteen when I met Diane, remember? And now, I'm only eighteen. Why would I want to restrict the rest of my life ― my  _future_  ― by chaining myself to some mindless, conceited bastard," she scoffed, "who would only make me pregnant and then gallivant with other women while I'd be forced to work his household?"

He shook his head in mock despair. "I never took you for a misanthrope, Swan," he replied teasingly.

Snickering, Emma replaced the flask in its proper hiding spot and then put the remaining cloth back in the drawers of the cabinet. "Men and their egos ― have any of you ever considered how we women feel about being forced into relationships in order to survive? It's brutal and unmistakably cruel ― society has been poisoned, that much is certain," she snorted disgustedly.

"Which is why," Killian accentuated, "I'm a pirate ―  _and_ , duly noted, I'm  _not_  married."

"Oh?" she half-grinned as she faced him. "You haven't found the right woman yet? Or perhaps you're a  _misogynist_ , Captain?"

"Neither." Smiling dazzlingly, he stalked towards her. "I just prefer freedom to confinement." Reaching for her hand, he brushed his lips over her knuckles. "And who said I haven't already found the 'right woman'? She should stay with me, matrimony or not. She would stay, in spite of anything."

The way he was smoldering at her, his cerulean eyes penetrating and questioning, was flushing Emma's skin, burning it together with any possible answer she could summon. His words were gnawing at her heart, demanding she interpret her own emotions and break the tension in the air.

She was speechless and motionless, enthralled by him as he leaned in, his chest heaving. His leather pants were still the only garment that adorned his figure, but right now, he was undressing  _her_  with his bold stare.

_Save yourself. Don't be foolish._

Emma tried to compose herself, to calm her nerves. To suppress the raging fire that was engulfing both of them.

But she didn't know how to do either. She never did, not when he was around.

"I should go to my room," she replied softly, biting her lip as she released his hand to go look for her discarded boots and belt.

"Emma...don't turn away from me. I need you  _here_." Instead of cracking during his plea, his voice was strong. Vehement. Commanding.

Heat was rising to her face, and she knew she was blushing when she rose on her tiptoes to gently kiss his cheek. "I know...but I can't stay, Killian," she apologized.

He lifted a hand to her jawline, sweeping his fingers across it yearningly. "Someday, you will. You won't be afraid anymore, and you'll stay. With me."

Before she could say that that couldn't happen for a number of reasons, he had covered her mouth with his own, the act passionate and barely restrained. And then the moment was over, her legs directing her out of his cabin. If she glanced back...she would be too tempted...

When she entered her chambers, the first thing she did was fall into the hammock hanging from the ceiling. Swinging to and fro, she eyed her sack of belongings as they repeatedly drew near and far, focusing on the image until it became blurry.

The sparks between herself and Killian were always so close to bursting into flame, and when they accidentally did, there was no dousing the ensuing inferno. Escape was the only possibility then. But the question was, how long could she continue doing this? How long could she resist?

* * *

The second the door closed behind Emma, Killian ran his hands through his hair, sitting back down on his bed. He understood her hesitation ― understood all of it. He kept placing her in uncomfortable positions, where he thoughtlessly challenged her feelings and their friendship to the point that she had no choice but to walk away from his demands because they overwhelmed her. And he had no right to do that. No right at all.

Sighing, he hefted on his boots before attacking the interior of his cabinet. He needed a drink.

Opening the doors widely, he grabbed a random shirt while his other hand reached for the flask of rum Emma had used to clean his scrapes. Emma...she truly was a predicament ― with or without her, he went nearly insane from frustration in between the two.

Downing a swig of the rum, he concentrated on the pungent taste as he glared at the tattoo on his wrist. It would have been only a matter of time before she found out about Milah ― and now, she knew. And it was most likely she would learn the whole truth soon enough, even if he tried to prevent it.

* * *

_It was three months since Milah had vanished into her hometown. Killian had left her in peace, not wanting to conflict her time with her son, but he made the_ Jolly Roger _rest nearby in the shadows. Always waiting, always watching._

" _We're in danger here, cruising around the same village so many times in a row. That will surely attract the attention of the Navy," Doc muttered as he settled against the railing._

_Killian paced restlessly before striding over to the doctor's side. "Are you saying I shouldn't wait for Milah to come back?" he threatened._

" _Don't throw that at me, Captain ― you know exactly what I think about all this."_

_He goaded harshly, "And that is?"_

_Doc threw his hands up into the air, exasperated. "It's plain madness! Couldn't you at least have gotten involved with an engaged woman, instead of one who is married ― let alone one with a child? Sometimes, Killian Jones, you abandon your head, your instincts, and your damn common sense for absolute foolishness."_

_Killian smiled grimly, impressed that the doctor had the gumption to tell him what he thought. That's why he remained his truest confidant._

" _So it's madness to fall in love, hmm? Was it foolishness, Doc, when you married Isolde and knowingly landed in a situation that nearly destroyed your life?" he replied raggedly, his tone bitter._

_Doc was stricken, his expression livid. Looking out at the sea, he wrung his hands. "Don't you dare pick at old wounds, Killian. Milah promised to come back, but how long do you expect us to stay here? We need supplies, our ammunition count is low, and we're sailing in bloody circles!" he shouted angrily._

_His answering posture was one of defiance and hardened resolve, cold fury in his eyes as well. "We stay until she returns ― I'm not abandoning her, Doc."_

" _Fine," the doctor huffed, incredulous, "but if we all die for her, I'm personally kicking you out of heaven or hell in the hereafter, whichever it comes down to."_

* * *

Even after a few more hours of fretful sleep, Emma wanted to go back to him, to fling herself into his arms. Her reasoning was warring with her desires, and she was confused she couldn't make sense of either. And her vivid dreams of them together weren't helping at all.

Killian wasn't right for her ― he was much older and, obviously, very experienced with women. He was a  _pirate_. A romantic dalliance with him was one matter, but an ongoing affair was another. They would cross so many boundaries, and the die would be cast forever. And despite how many times she told herself this, she couldn't get that undeniably handsome, charismatic man out of her head.

Though she should. She  _must_.

Groaning in frustration, Emma jumped to her feet, splashed water on her face, and stomped out the door. If Leroy wasn't free to talk, she'd beg Smee to assign her some chores ― at this point, she'd even swab the deck to kill her state of inactivity.

* * *

"It seems you've fallen prey to his charms, Miss Swan." Doc chuckled when Emma gave him a baffled look after pulling her gaze from Killian, who was making his usual rounds on deck.

She polished the railing thoroughly, dipping the rag in more wax occasionally. "I don't know what you mean, Doc."

He cleared his throat meaningfully. "You've been avoiding him for more than a week. Every time I come to escort you to dinner, you're never in your cabin ― instead, I have to hear from Leroy, of all people," he grimaced, "that you've even offered to do his duties for him so you can be as occupied as possible from early morning until late night. And you're purposely shirking your sword-fighting lessons ― Cutler looks like he's been dragged to hell and back."

Emma shrugged, wiping furiously. "What can I say? I love being about the ship."

Doc's gaze flickered from hers in another direction, and she suddenly felt very self-conscious. Peering over her shoulder, she saw Killian staring heatedly at her from afar as he spoke with Smee.

"And all you've detailed shows I'm smitten with the Captain how, exactly?" she accused.

He sighed deeply. "You always try to look at each other, and when your eyes do meet, you both distract yourselves instantly... Honestly, Emma ― the attraction between the two of you would be clear to a  _blind_  man, despite your mutual attempts to deny it."

Emma rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. "And your advice for me is to...what? Run to him and throw myself into his arms? Profess my undying love?" she countered sharply.

Doc rubbed his neck. "No...what I actually―"

She raised a hand to indicate defeat, dropping the can of wax and cloth on the railing before almost collapsing on the wooden surface as well. "Doc, I'm―I'm sorry. I just...I haven't been sleeping well for a while, and..." her voice lowered to a mere whisper, "I don't know what to do."

Appearing concerned, Doc edged over to her side. "About yourself...and Killian?"

"Yes," she admitted. Covering her face with her hands, she mumbled brokenly, "It's cowardly of me, I know, but...I've never been with any man before, so I'm unsure how to handle this ― any of it. Hell, I was already wary before he mentioned...Milah. And now..."

"You feel like you're stepping on shattered glass."

Emma entangled her fingers in her hair as she bowed her head, leaning on her elbows. "When we were hit by that cannonball...and it exploded...he was knocked unconscious. And for one horrible, dreadful moment...I thought... When he moved again, it was best feeling in the world. But everything is escalating so quickly...every touch leads to more, and I know he's left unsatisfied when we part. Like I am."

Doc was patting her back sympathetically. "But do you really believe that not interacting with him will help at all? There's only so many places you can hide from him ― this is his ship, after all."

She chuckled dryly. "God, do I know that. But the worst part? The separation ― it's  _killing_  me inside. I look for him all the time, and when he's not there, there's relief  _and_  pain in return. I long to be around him, but I have to remind myself I can't ― for his sake and mine."

Peeking at the sunset, she basked in its glow, covering her bare arms with her hands. "Our attachment to each other has become so strong in such a short period of time that it...it scares me. I'm frightened, Doc ― and I can't force my fears away," she choked out. "Everyone I've ever loved has left me ― even Diane... What if it happens again? I wouldn't be able to cope with that heartache again ― I can't..." A tear rolled down her cheek.

"Emma..." Doc was smiling sadly at her. "You can keep building those walls of yours, but remember: they may keep out pain, but they'll also keep out love... And isn't love worth the risk?"

"Was it worth it for you?" she snapped tiredly.

" _Yes_ ," he said firmly. "Isolde was worth it all ― and even though she died, her spirit lives on. In me. And while her body is buried in a grave in England, that part of her ― the one I loved most ― is breathing every second I do. She's in my dreams, my waking thoughts, my memories...she's everywhere. I'll never lose her ― just like you can't lose Diane, because she meant so much to you."

"Killian, however...is he even serious about me?" Emma argued, changing back to the original subject and brushing off the anguish she associated with her friend's name. "He flirts incessantly, so how am I to know that what we share is real?"

Doc shook his head, half-smiling. "Oddly enough, I haven't seen him pay attention to any woman but yourself since you arrived here." When she gaped at him, he continued, "I'd say he's serious, wouldn't you?"

Emma bit her lip, tapping her fingertips against the wood.

"By all means, Emma, trust your instincts and your common sense ― but don't bury your heart by doubting what you believe to be true." With a nod, he turned to leave.

"But he has so many secrets, Doc ― he won't tell me about his past―"

"Then ask him," he pressed on before she could interrupt. "And if he won't relent,  _make_  him tell you. As they say, 'where there's a will, there's a way'."

* * *

"She's doing it again, Doc ― she's keeping me out." Killian poured water over his face, not bothering to dry it off.

The doctor finished the last of his wine, casually slipping his hands inside his pockets. "What did you expect, Captain? Every time she gets closer to you, you immediately try to take her to bed and she runs off. You have no one but yourself to blame," he said bluntly.

"That's not the case ― she reciprocates what I feel, and she acts on―"

Doc snorted. "Don't judge Emma ― she's only  _eighteen_  years of age, Killian. You're nearly eight and twenty, so that responsibility of wisdom and prudence falls on your shoulders first."

"I'm not judging her," he defended, "but she must realize the effect she has on me when she touches me―"

"Because an innocent girl dressing your chest wounds must be such an  _exciting_  experience for you," Doc commented sarcastically.

Irritated, Killian slammed his fist down on the desk. "Damn it, man, she  _kissed_  me! More than once, under various circumstances! Doesn't that count for something?"

"And you're saying you had no part in influencing her to do so?"

He groaned. "No, Doc, but―"

"No excuses, Captain ― just give her room to breathe and leave her be if that's what she wants. It's the least you can do, and besides, you should be glad she's accustomed to the daily routine of ship life by now, eager and ready to work. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Annoyed by Doc's deliberately obtuse response, Killian laughed wryly. "I want  _Emma Swan_ ," he drawled as he paraded through the surgeon's chambers, "not her  _absence_." Opening the door, he exited the room.

"And that wish," he shouted as it slammed shut behind him, "is not going to change!"

* * *

"Know any songs, Swan?" Leroy asked, swirling the rum at the bottom of his cup absentmindedly.

Emma looked up from her makeshift seat on an old crate, the numerous lanterns on deck not aiding her vision in the growing darkness of twilight. "Did I ever say I could sing?"

"No, but being a woman and all," he shrugged, "I thought you might. Me, I'm still as tone-deaf as on the day I was born ― so whenever I open my mouth to even whistle, the men tell me to shut the hell up."

Gazing upward at the stars, she sighed as she drank in the sight of so many glittering orbs twinkling down at her, as if in greeting and farewell at the same time. Doc's advice to take a chance on Killian still rang in her ears, and now, as she sat here, she desperately wanted to follow it. It didn't matter her relationship with the Captain was constantly shifting along the precarious boundaries she had raised again and again.

She missed their banter, their easy camaraderie. She missed their lessons, and God, she just missed  _him_. And instead of being aloof and overly cautious, she should swallow her stupid pride and talk to him. He would understand, because they were friends ― he was her friend, wasn't he? Killian  _was_  a gentleman ― he wouldn't force her to do anything she didn't want to do.

Softly, she began to hum a tune Diane had loved, standing up to traipse to the railing and peer at the sleeping sea beneath.

"See," Leroy interjected, "that's pretty ― what are the words?"

Emma smiled, wrapping her arms across her chest to brace herself. Pausing, she recalled the song and how she had laughed at her friend initially for chanting it so often. She was no siren ― she never had been ― but she could sing it for Diane ― sing it for both of them and those they had lost.

"Black is the colour of my true love's hair..." With every passing note and timbre, her voice grew stronger, the echoes loud and clear across the deck. And as the words melded with the music pouring from one of her best memories, Emma felt like she could almost touch the melody as it ran with the wind and then quietly dissipated of its own accord. Nothing was forever...but maybe love was. And though many preached that faith could move mountains...music seemed more likely to do so. It could touch so many souls at once that its power was indisputable.

When she had finished the last chorus, Emma turned to see Grumpy smiling broadly as he dreamily stared off into the distance. Mr. Smee was sitting next to him, his eyes closed and his hands clutching his hat as a small grin stretched his face, while some of the crew were spread out throughout the main deck, most lost in thought as they sipped their allotted rum.

And then there was Killian, gazing at her with awe as he steadily approached her from the helm. She had no idea how long he had been standing there, but from his delighted expression, she guessed he had heard most of her singing.

Blushing and clasping her hands, she sheepishly focused on the wooden floor, only to feel his fingers lift her chin while his other hand raised hers to his lips. "Emma...the song...it was beautiful. Your voice," he corrected, clearing his throat, "is beautiful. Like you."

"Is that a compliment, Captain?" she tried to tease, suddenly feeling ashamed.

He shook his head. "No ― it's the  _truth_."

When she couldn't bring herself to reply, still struck by the raw sincerity in his tone, Killian smiled at her. That smile...it warmed her from head to toe, easing her guilt and reassuring her.

Before he could open his mouth again, she spoke first. "If I may, Captain," she replied shyly, "I'd...I'd like to join you for dinner."

Saying nothing, he walked with her to the lower deck. Before they entered his room, Emma pulled back. "Killian...promise me you won't ever leave me. Promise," she emphasized earnestly, "that we'll take  _this_  one step at a time. I don't know yet what we mean to each other, but...I'd like to find out."

His answer was to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand. "Darling," he murmured, "you have my everlasting promise."

When Killian leaned down, he whispered, "May I?" And after one nod, he had captured her lips with his own, smiling again when she returned the gesture with fervor.

* * *

Doc grinned widely on seeing the couple enter into the captain's quarters together, hand in hand. Dinner was finally reanimated, the gloominess of the past week gone as the trio conversed.

Killian was smirking as Emma recalled recent events, her face illuminated and her eyes enraptured by her own storytelling while she narrated how Cutler had nearly thrown Smarty overboard that afternoon after he had tried to apologize to her for Cutler's rude behavior. She was breathtaking, his lovely Swan...and if the heavens allowed it, he would do everything in his power to keep her by his side.

_You have no idea how much you mean to me, Emma...I didn't notice it before, but now I do: I only have to see you and I'm happy ― and when we're together, you make my heart feel like it can never break again._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The song Emma sings is "Black Is The Colour" by Celtic Woman.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please keep in mind that the backstory I constructed for Killian was conceived prior to season 3.

" _Have you ever considered entering the Navy, Mr. James?"_

_Killian glanced up at his astronomy teacher, his eyes lowering to focus again on the scrap of paper he had been furiously writing on._

" _To serve king and country, Professor Lawrence? When we have two royal fops vying for the throne and rebellion throughout the land? Not bloody likely," he muttered under his breath._

_The short, stout man approached his desk, his gray curls flying to the side and his spectacles trembling on the bridge of his nose with every forceful step he took._

" _You," he started, shaking a finger in admonishment, "are one of the best pupils ― if not the best pupil ― I have ever had. You know the night sky like the back of your hand, you have a remarkable sense of direction, and you've outdone all the other students in my class with your impeccable work. Mark my words: someday, you'll make a splendid captain. You, my boy, are a born sailor."_

_Chuckling, Killian rose from his seat and tucked his books under his arm, the paper firmly grasped by his right hand. "Many thanks, sir ― but as you are aware, sailing requires more than the compliments you've outlines. As of right now, my navigation skills extend only to maneuvering a rowboat, and I know nothing about modern designs of large vessels. Moreover...I fear I'd have more than a little trouble with that 'vow' of obedience one must adhere to in order to stay in that trade."_

" _Bah," the older man scoffed. "When I was a boy, you needed to know only two things to serve on a ship: how to work and how to fight. You are the champion of your fencing team, your sword-fighting techniques are unparalleled for a lad of your age, and you have achieved top marks here at Eton. The last few months, you've changed from the boy you were before ― you literally poured yourself into your studies, and I personally am impressed by the man you've become. Killian James, you are an excellent candidate for a life at sea ― your dedication and determination will surely take you far and benefit your career._

_He gripped the paper harder, the friction between his gritted teeth causing the beginning of a headache. "Again, thank you, Professor ― I appreciate your support and kind words," he forced out in a stiff, polite tone. If he didn't leave this room right now, he was going to explode. Mr. Lawrence was looking pleased and proud, nodding throughout Killian's statement of gratitude._

" _My assignment will be ready by Monday," he called anxiously, hurrying toward the corridor leading out of the classroom._

_"Think about what I said, Mr. James ― don't decide too hastily, now!" were the last of his teacher's words that reached him as he ran into the sunlight, the stone walls abandoned while he trudged on to his next destination._

_When he was absolutely certain no one had followed him, Killian nearly threw himself beneath the thick oak tree, its branches heavy with fresh leaves and acorn buds starting to bloom. Dropping his books and portfolio beside him, he clawed at his high-collared shirt until he drew out the crucifix around his neck. It felt warm and alive in his hand, as if he could touch the two people he loved most through contact with the crafted piece of silver._

_It was only two months and three weeks since Darlene had been torn away from him. Two months since his baby sister had been consumed by black dirt and unresponsive earth, hidden away from him forever. He would never hear her sweet laughter again, never witness that smile of hers that stirred his heart when she saw him. The last of his family was gone. First it had been his beloved mother, and now the only link left to her._

_He was alone. By all accounts, an orphan now. And the loneliness that kept him company these days was the only thing that did. He had no friends here at school. And he had no father at home..._

_Fury suddenly built itself in him like a ravenous fire rekindled, spreading through his veins until his entire body was aflame. That selfish bastard...that...that_ murderer _. First his mother, then Darlene ― he was responsible for their deaths as surely as if he had taken a dagger and stabbed them through the heart. He had abandoned them ― all of them._

_Now he understood his mother's constant fatigue, her aches, the aura of fear she carried when around that monster. And Darlene...he never should have left her. He never should have come here. It would have been better if they had both ran away and risked starvation than for Darlie to die like she did because of that piece of filth who had dared to call himself their father._

_Killian covered his eyes with his hands, desperately blocking out the pain that was creeping into his lungs and suffocating him. He withheld as long as he could, nearly rocking back and forth until the dam burst and his soul was flooded._

_Those strangled cries and animalistic sounds couldn't be coming from his mouth ― the loud, tortured sobs echoing from his chest couldn't be belong to him. But here he was. He listened, he felt, and he knew. No human deserved such suffering, such bloody torment ― and there was no undoing what had been done._

_His limbs were trembling, and he couldn't see anything in front of him. His grief was ripping him apart: he had been flung into the worst darkness of all, blacker than the night, and he was drowning in his own despair. And this abyss was steep and impossible to climb. And strangely, he didn't even want to try. He wanted to stay buried there, because he had nowhere else to go._

You are a born sailor _, softly whispered one memory. And then his thoughts grew._ You have the potential to be great...you could be so much more than Father ever was ― so much better. You could be the best. All you have to do is try. Just do it. Do it, and live again. Make Mother and Darlie proud of you.

_Brushing away his tears, Killian cleared his throat as he stared again at the cross. It was time to make a choice: break free or stay chained._

* * *

"Read them and weep, boys," Emma smirked as she laid out her cards face-up, reveling in a small sense of accomplishment as her fellow gamblers groaned loudly on seeing her perfect hand. Standing discreetly behind a seated Leroy, Soupy smiled toothily at her and nodded triumphantly before heading back to his kitchen.

Smarty looked aghast as she pulled the rather large pile of coins in the middle of the crate toward herself, arranging them into stacks as she counted and then stuffed them into a leather money purse. "That was a month's worth of earnings!" he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest in dismay and scowling fiercely.

"Well, you shouldn't bluff your way through cards, then ― especially when you're drunk as hell," she teased, winking at Leroy.

Smee grinned at his folded cards. He could be shrewd and cunning, when he wanted to be. "I only lost a few coins ― it was thanks to sheer luck that I chose to pull out early."

"Cowardice, you mean ― watching others lose 'cause you're afraid to lose yourself," snorted Smarty, rolling his eyes as he grabbed the bottle next to his arm. "At least I get to keep the rum," he said with a satisfied smack after drinking a shot.

Leroy jeered at him, snatching the bottle away. "You lost it  _all ―_ fair and square ― so pay up, Smarty."

"Until next time, when I win it all back," he grumbled vindictively as he stood up and walked away unsteadily, cursing when he nearly slammed into the mast. When he got back on his feet, only to pummel into the Captain who was emerging from the entrance to the lower deck just as Smarty was entering it, Emma, Leroy, and Smee all snickered.

"Alright, gents," Leroy said as he watched Smarty apologize profusely to an annoyed Killian before staggering out of sight, "it's time for my watch ― guess who has the crow's nest tonight."

Smee rose to his feet as well, stretching his back before pulling his red cap over his head. "It was a pleasure, Miss Emma, Leroy ― but my bunk awaits," he sighed before heading in the same direction Smarty went, stopping to have a word with the Captain as he passed by.

"See you tomorrow, Grumpy." Emma replied to his half-hearted salute with a wave, jumping up and rearranging the crates into a neat stack before parting.

When she went toward the now deserted helm, two arms snaked around her waist from behind, and a pair of lips brushed over her neck. "Leaving so soon, lass?"

She stifled a giggle when his stubble tickled her skin. "You really like sneaking up on me, don't you, Captain?" Turning around, she withdrew from his hold and faced him with her hands on her hips.

"Only so I'm able to catch you, darling," he replied with a wink. "Have the cards granted you good fortune, hmm?

Smiling mischievously, Emma swung her winnings in front of him. "Three games in a row."

He gave her a devilish smirk in return. "And now you're ready to try me and  _my_  skills."

Her eyes widened and she took a step back. "I didn't agree to that."

"Afraid of losing to me, Swan?" he taunted, his expression sly and calculating. "You think the odds unfavorable?"

Raising a brow, Emma tilted her head to the side as he lazily swaggered toward her. "I think you'll cheat, that's what."

He placed a hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt by her assumption. "Why Emma, I'm a gentleman!"

"Killian, you're a  _pirate_  at heart ― so drop the act and let's just play cards, alright?" She laughed outright when he pouted boyishly. "Stop it ― you're being immature and childish!"

"Admit you love it ― all of it ― and then I'll stop," he bargained, grinning.

Emma shook her head, exasperated and amused at the same time. He was right: she did like it ― very much so ― but she wouldn't ever tell him that directly. "You're incorrigible."

"Would you have me any other way?" Killian was staring intently at her now, his smoky gaze sultry and his husky tone purposely seductive. He was, undoubtedly, an indestructible flirt.

"And here I believed you had made some progress, changed your ways..." She sighed deeply, tsking in mock disapproval while she slid by him.

In one unrecognizable instant, Emma felt her legs being swept out from under her for the second time in her life, and the next moment, Killian was marching toward the captain's quarters, hefting her carefully like he was carrying precious cargo.

"Killian, put me down!" she protested, squirming in his arms in a brief struggle to get free. He only smirked down at her.

"Emma Swan, you can be quite the little girl sometimes. I am merely escorting you to my chambers, so enjoy the ride."

She wanted to slap his face from sheer aggravation ― he was behaving ridiculously. "If you are a gentleman, Jones," she growled, "then start treating me like a lady, not some damn bride!"

"Funny you should make that particular connection, really, Swan," he responded lightly, only hesitating when he had some trouble balancing Emma and twisting the door handle open.

And then it happened, as quick as thunder after a flash of lightning. Killian was slowly pushing the door forward, his embrace around her tight ― and then they both were flat on the floor, he taking the impact of the fall when he landed adroitly on his back with her on top. The timbers of the entire ship seemed to scream, creaking and shuddering wildly. When silence reigned once more, it was shattered by Leroy's yells from the crow's nest and Killian's low curses resonating through the wood. Then the ship's bell began to toll out its warning cry.

"We've been hit." It wasn't even a question ― by now, it was fact, not theory.

"Aye, lass." He tried to push upward on the balls of his feet, but she was weighing him down. Emma shifted until they were lying next to each other, breathing hard. Killian grimaced when he attempted a sitting position.

"Who would dare to attack at night ― is there anyone that foolish or that mad?" she demanded as she stood up. He followed suite, rubbing his behind and wincing visibly while doing so.

"Oh yes ― and if I were gambling, I'll put my money on only one possibility."

In the blink of an eye, the  _Jolly Roger_  swayed dangerously once more, and Emma narrowed her sight at an invisible enemy while they ran to the main deck. "Whom?"

Killian smiled grimly, looking inexorable. "The damn sodding Navy."

* * *

_As he waited impatiently, all he owned stuffed into one bag and a small pouch of gold coins in his pocket, Killian re-examined his decisions. One had led to another, until all were a muddled circle that had no beginning or end._

_Was it wise to walk the entire pier until he found the dingiest vessel imaginable, desperately hoping that those who tended it were the disreputable personages he sought? Was it wise to look for them at all? Would they be docked in London's harbor in plain sight in the first place?_

_What had he been thinking? This was a dreadful, worthless scheme. No, it was necessary. Moronic, but necessary._

_Obtaining high rank in the Royal Navy would only make_ him _happy ― and Killian didn't want that. No...since bringing prestige and acclaim to his family name was Father's sole goal in life, he needed to be disappointed. He needed to suffer. His arrogance and conceit would be broken._

_Killian's solitary state was his father's fault. That despicable excuse for a man had made it so, because he was so absorbed with attaining power and wealth that he had destroyed the three people who had loved him. And now it was his turn to be torn down and demolished, body and mind, position and title. His line would die out with him, and he would be left with no one to remember him, no one to hold his hand or comfort him when he lay on his deathbed. Ultimately, his guile and hatred would be the only things he possessed. Hopefully, he would choke on them._

" _What's your name, boy?" A scruffy, dismal man standing near the boarding ramp was now eyeing Killian warily, from the pack on his back to his attire._

_Oh damn. Should he give his real name? He hadn't thought that far ― what were the odds, anyway, that a pirate ship would take on someone like him? And was this man, in fact, a pirate? He didn't look bloodthirsty or dirty, like pirates usually did._

" _My name's for the Captain," he uttered at last, cockily lifting his chin, "if he'll hire me on."_

_The pirate before him snorted in disbelief. "Is that so? And what would a good-for-nothing git with dandy clothes like you be worth, except ransom money?"_

_Killian glared at him, his new black boots clicking ominously. His garments weren't that good ― they were actually old and worn. "I can read―"_

" _Oh, so you know your letters, do you?" he snapped. "But have you ever worked a day in your life, pretty boy?"_

_His temper was starting to boil, and it was becoming hot red. "Have you? Because you look like the devil himself, ready for the fire of the damned," Killian snarled, not allowing the other man to comment. "I know how to navigate by starlight, to read the bloody weather ― can you say the same? Oh no ― you've probably been living on rotten sardines since birth, by the way you smell."_

_By the end of his speech, the brute had whipped out his sword and pointed it at Killian's throat. "I don't know what your kind do 'bout insults, fancy pants, but round these parts, you die for speaking to me that way."_

_When he didn't so much as move a muscle, staring at him defiantly, the pirate relented. "But since you're so young, I'll give you a chance." Moving backward, he gestured toward the scabbard hanging from Killian's belt. "Fight me."_

_Killian didn't hesitate for a moment, gripping his sword and then lashing out at him. At first, it seemed that the pirate was winning ― he was holding nothing back, never relenting as he thrust blow after blow and aimed to kill. Though Killian was unused to that, having only fought his lazy classmates for practice at Eton since he had learned how to fence, he caught on quickly to the pirate's blunders and habitual techniques, not letting his guard down for an instant._

_One of the most thrilling moments in his life was the clang of his opponent's sword when it finally parted from its owner and hit the pier, landing underneath the sole of Killian's boot._

_With his neck at swordpoint, the pirate should have cringed, should have begged for mercy. But he didn't. Instead, he did the most unexpected thing: he laughed out loud._

" _Well, well, well ― seems I've underestimated you, lad."_

_Killian's eyes narrowed. "Indeed. Now take me to your captain."_

_The man's lips twisted in a malicious, satisfied smile. "But I'm the Captain," he drawled, swatting the sword away and pushing Killian roughly to the ground. His grin widened on seeing the obvious shock in Killian's expression as he landed on his side, flesh meeting wood with a dull thud._

" _It's an honor to make you speechless, fancy pants. You know, you're a very foolish, priggish ass for your age ― but still, you've got guts. And I like that. Not many of my crew have half the gumption you've got, and not one of them would tell me what you did to my face or duel with me ― the cowards."_

 _He extended a hand to him. "The test's over, but your work's just begun ― sure you have what it takes to be a pirate on the_ Bloody Mary _, boy?"_

_After gazing at him cautiously, Killian accepted the proffered help. "I know I have," he replied between gritted teeth, reminding himself not to dust off his pants when he stood straight._

_The captain scrutinized his face closely. "Listen, I don't want to be accused of kidnapping if your parents go dog-mad over your absence―"_

" _I don't have anyone," Killian interrupted. "I'm alone." The pain in his voice must have convinced the man, because he motioned that they should board the ship._

" _So what is your name?" he pressured as they climbed._

_Killian looked down at the tips of his boots. He better get used to lying, now that all limits were gone and he was truly on his own. There was no more school, no more duty, and no more ties. There was just him and what he wanted. And before he understood it, his mind chose a new surname for him, urging it through his tongue and teeth of its own accord._

" _Jones...my name is Killian Jones."_

* * *

When they surfaced on deck, the wind was cold and biting, thrashing the sails to and fro like a torturous whip was flogging them. In addition to an increasingly cloudy sky and a completely obscured full moon, dense fog was beginning to rest over the waves, the answering darkness of the night wicked and treacherous. An oncoming storm and an ongoing battle, combined ― how  _thrilling_ , Killian muttered to himself.

"Cap'tn," shouted Grumpy from overhead, "I can barely make out where the bloody bastards are lurking ― they're using that bloody fog to have a go at us!"

When the  _Jolly Roger_  was tossed abruptly on its starboard side, Emma nearly tumbled into Killian, but he steadied her, one arm around her waist while the other gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white.

"From what I've felt, it's been more than one 'go'," she said with a scowl, leaning into him when they were again rattled by the roll of cannon fire, the booms sounding off too nearby for comfort.

Pulling his lass by the hand, they scurried up to the helm, where he finally took command of his wayward ship. Or least, he tried to.

Sloshing seawater and falling raindrops were splashing into his eyes, making it difficult to see anything.  _Bloody hell_. Emma was helping him to keep the wheel from spinning out of control, her hands steering it to starboard while his pulled to port, but the rudder might have been crippled for all it was worth in this wretched weather.

"Smee!" he yelled, waiting for the familiar red cap to come into view. His second in command was needed to stir action, as most of the crew were down below deck. In this situation, all hands should be on deck, battle stations be damned.

* * *

Emma whimpered beneath her breath, holding onto the helm like her life depended on it. Killian was ordering his men about ruthlessly, leaving her alone to steer the ship away from their hidden enemy. In the midst of this havoc, the chance of someone flying overboard was very likely ― as was getting burnt alive by one of the many lightnings streaks flashing above in an eerie dance.

Helpless in the face of fierce rain and the violent ocean beneath, she could only keep the  _Jolly Roger_  safely on course, veering instinctively as best she could while the tempest raged on. She couldn't see Killian ― she couldn't see the sails being lifted or the rigging yanked upward ― she couldn't see  _anything_. There was only blackness and wetness and the clash of thunder with the vibrations of the cannonballs blasting the water ― but she was relying on the latter, sound being the only plausible guide now when sight was impossible. The farther away they were, the quieter the explosions would be.

It was interesting that the powder inside such artillery  _could_  erupt at all despite the moisture surrounding it, but judging by less frequent attacks, the Navy vessel chasing them was giving up on that dampened venture thanks to the growing downpour. Emma knew it stung Killian's pride to run away from his pursuer, but with their cannons uselessly soaked and conditions thoroughly unmanageable, they had no choice but to flee.  _Run hard and run fast_.

Hopefully, they would make it through without dying meanwhile. Between the storm and the Navy, Emma wasn't certain which she feared more. A pirate's fate at their hands was undisputed, but the sea knew no bounds, had no prejudices. In the end, who was crueler: the elements or man?

* * *

"We seemed to have lost them ― for now, at least," Killian announced, not sounding very confident as he pulled out his flask and drank from it. He looked exhausted, his shoulders sagging, and he was completely drenched from his hair down to his boots, his jacket dripping water into the puddles scattered across the deck.

Then again, so was she, Emma remarked miserably to herself. Running a hand through her drying hair, she glared at the deceptively calm horizon, the wispy sunlight exposed by the taunting dawn. The night had been hell, but the sky was still overcast, not determining yet what today would bring.

The crew was still taking turns between keeping watch and resting below, though those who were awake and pacing the deck appeared to be half-asleep. In that span of two years aboard the  _Challenger_  and the  _Titan_ , she had never experienced anything like what they had gone through during the past hours.

When Killian tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a yawn, she broke the silence. "You should go to your chambers, Captain," Emma offered, "and get some rest."

"And who, may I ask, will be overseeing the men while I'm gone?" he snapped irritatedly, not facing her. "No doubt Smee is sound asleep in his bunk right now."

So stubborn. Just like her. When she reached his side, she tentatively laid a hand on his shoulder. "Killian..." she murmured persuasively. "You need rest...food...a change of clothes before you catch your death and get ill. I'll stay on."

He shifted slightly under her touch. "You're the helmsman, Swan, not the first mate―"

"Captain, I've been handling the helm for more than four months now ― and on a regular basis, no less. The men will listen to me ― you know they will. And if they do refuse...then...I'll have to convince them otherwise," she countered with a grin, one hand playfully resting on the hilt of her sword.

Killian finally peered at her, his eyes narrowed. "All of this suspiciously sounds like you care about my well-being."

Smiling again, Emma quickly kissed his cheek before taking her place behind the helm. "Don't ever doubt it," she winked.

He had a very dazed, surprised expression on his face, as if he couldn't quite believe what she had just said. When she raised a brow at him questioningly, he smirked and then walked toward her.

"Take good care of her, Swan," he whispered into her ear, his breath warm against her cheek before it was gone, replaced by a gust of wind that carried the echo of his retreating footsteps.

 _Oh, I will_ , Emma thought as she took control, sending the  _Jolly Roger_  toward the sunrise.

* * *

"Damn holes," Leroy grumbled as he carried long planks of wood over to the side of the hull where it had been damaged by the Navy's targeting.

The sun had deigned to shine again, but now instead of gales and heavy rainfall, the air was so hot and humid that the motionless sails were akin to stretched parchment. The Captain had ordered for the crew to drop anchor, saying that there was no purpose in drifting pointlessly. However, at least they would be  _moving_  then, Emma repeated to herself while she shook her head slowly to try to rustle a breeze over her too warm neck.

The Caribbean was reputed to have the most beautiful, languid climate in the world. But from what she had seen so far, it was capricious and intemperate, two qualities she despised. In addition, its unpredictability was getting on her nerves.

Wiping water from her face with an already damp handkerchief, Emma sighed and used a small piece of rope to tie up her messy hair, exasperated by its troublesome presence. The heat was seeping deeply into her skin, its far-reaching claws sinking into her bones, and if she didn't escape it soon, she was going to ignite from the inside out.

Grumpy growled from frustration when he missed the head of the nail and hit his hand with the hammer. "Bloody hell ― I only blink out the sweat in my eyes and my aim is off! Darned sun is blinding me here." When the mishap occurred a second time, he threw down all the material he was holding and sat on the deck, his legs stretched out in front of him.

"If the Captain wants these repairs done," he said, groaning when he retrieved the burden of a hammer resting beneath his underside, "he'll have to command the wind to pay us a visit first, 'cause I can't do a thing when my skin's frying."

Emma plopped down next to him, placing the bucket of nails by her feet. "I think the more important issue here is what we are going to do if the Navy appears now ― we're stuck like fish betwixt a line of sharks!"

He squinted at her under the sharp glare of sunlight. "You could always pray...prayers are lucky. Or maybe mermaids could rescue us?"

"Prayers are fine, Grumpy," she replied, laughing, "but they are as much a wisp of smoke as the stories of mermaids are. You know there's a fire somewhere from whence the smoke came, but you cannot see it. And when the smoke itself dissipates...it's all gone. And you have no idea if any of it has had any effect or if it existed at all."

Leroy scowled at her. "Quite the little philosopher, aren't you, Swan, even when we're dying here?"

A trickle of perspiration ran down her back, her arms, her legs. There was sticky water everywhere on her body, but no relief. And it was only growing worse by the hour. Jumping suddenly to her feet, Emma began to pull off her boots.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

She turned to him. "The only thing left to do."

"What, strip down your clothes so all the men on this ship go mad on sight and pounce on you?" When she continued her movements, taking off her jacket and then her belt, Leroy stammered, "Maybe you should join the Cap'tn and Doc below―"

Emma snorted loudly. "And get broiled in those chambers instead of baked out here? How is one situation any better than the other?"

Standing tall in her modest slip and corset, she put her clothes and boots by the railing. "Keep an eye on these for me?" she asked, to which Grumpy only nodded. His mouth opened in shock when he realized what she was going to do.

"Do you even know how to swim, Swan? There are sharks down there!" he protested when she clambered on top of the railing.

Looking back and giving him a cheeky grin, she shrugged her shoulders as she prepared to jump. "Better to drown or be eaten than be burned."

* * *

The cool water hit her dehydrated skin like piercing knives ― but then the sensation mollified, the waves caressing her face as she sank underneath the surface.

Remembering how to breathe underwater, Emma tore through the water until she could grasp air again, its presence flooding her senses. Her cheeks, her forehead, every inch of her flesh ― all were stained by drops of the sea, its touch gentle and rough at the same time. Her skin was ravaged by it, the saltwater stinging her eyes. Wonderful.  _Liberating_.

Ignoring the distant calls and yells from the ship ― Grumpy was no doubt screaming for Killian to come and order her out ― she tilted backward and floated peacefully, staring at the empty azure ceiling that promised no respite from its companion, the fiery golden tormentor. When was the last time she had swam in the depth of the ocean...? Ah yes. Diane had teased her mercilessly about it afterwards, saying that all the men had seen her in her undergarments, but...she hadn't cared one bit. And she didn't care now either. This was heaven, after living hell.

Changing her position, she dipped below again and washed whatever she could see. If that silly breeze didn't come soon, she was staying here indefinitely ― why go back when this was so refreshing?

When water splashed heavily nearby, cascading down on her head like a waterfall, Emma snapped back to reality. She had been so absorbed in her enjoyment that she had lost track of her surroundings.

When nothing came up, the answering ripples accentuating just how dangerous that lack of response was, she began to worry. What if that had been a diving shark...or something else? Looking back at the ship, Emma could see some men gathering by the railing, watching her closely.

Oh no. Grumpy was clinging to her belongings desperately, his expression panicked, and Doc was energetically reprimanding the ogling idlers, his voice loud and his tone vexed. It was certainly time to return ― how long had she been here, anyway? ― and aside from a general scolding and a wide audience, obvious embarrassment was awaiting her there. As well as a possibly disgruntled Killian, whom she still didn't see on deck.

However, when she tried to swim forward, she couldn't. Something held her legs firmly, and when she struggled, it was pulling her backward ― and she couldn't break free. Her own fierce shriek startled even herself as she fought the creature's grip ferociously.

"Emma!" In an instant, a head had made its way through the water, wet dark hair against sparkling tan skin. White teeth glinted at her, blue eyes twinkling and glistening, and Emma felt her heart nearly stop from mingled fear and anticipation. And then it started again. Angrily.

"How dare you sneak up on me like that, Killian!" she growled, forcefully yanking her legs from his arms and splashing as much water at his face as she could.

"Oi, Leroy told me you were drowning and  _I_  came to save you, princess!" From what she could see, he was undressed from the waist up...hopefully, only that. Following her line of sight, Killian smirked widely at her, his gaze raking down her form in turn.

Emma sighed deeply on noticing what had captured his attention. When white undergarments became wet, they were even more transparent than when dry ― but how was she to have known he would be jumping in after her, thinking himself a bloody hero when she could take care of herself? "I meant to swim alone."

"And this is the thanks I get for taking the time to personally run to your side and fish your rebellious self out?" he retorted. Then his expression changed drastically, his smile deviously charming. "I think  _not_."

He lunged at her, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her to him. When she resisted, he dived deeply until he was out of sight. Emma twisted around, anxious to discover where he had gone ― and then he rose up right in front of her.

"Looking for me, love?" he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist.

She tried to push him away, but her hands were pressed to his chest when he embraced her closely. "Killian," she rebuked in a low tone, "your men will see!" It didn't help that his body was provocatively outlining her curves, his legs entangling with hers.

He nudged her nose with his own before brushing his lips along hers. "Let them."

Emma pulled back and stared at him with an incredulous half-grin. "Don't you care about maintaining your reputation as a formidable pirate captain and a dashing blackguard?" she teased.

Killian looked at her from under his wet eyelashes, water dripping from his hair onto his cheeks and into his parted mouth. The resulting image was bewitching. "Oh?" he remarked heatedly. "I didn't know you have such an... _enticing_  opinion of me, Emma."

When she peered down, blushing, he lifted her chin up with his fingers. "Not when I'm with you, darling," he answered, resting his forehead against hers. He spun her gently in circles, the sea twirling while they floated. "With you, I'm just Killian."

She lowered her head until the right side of her face was lying on his shoulder, her hands enfolded around his neck. "Don't let go," she whispered softly, closing her eyes and listening to his quivering pulse as it beat in time with her own heart.

"Never," he professed adamantly, kissing the crown of her hair.

He was swimming, guiding, and the fluid motion comforted her. Lulled by the waves and her exceptional companion, slumber overtook Emma until she could only see the brightness of Killian, every thought of him touched by starlight. The sun was gone, its heat replaced with his compelling warmth. And it was enough.

* * *

When the stale air was swept away by newfound gusts, the crew and their Captain cheered, rambunctiously helping the  _Jolly Roger_  to fly. They were eager to cast away ― so eager, that the crow's nest was abandoned in the midst of their tasks. So eager, that a small point in the distance was ignored, a tiny flicker of brown...

Red and blue and white also glinted for a moment, and then the shape blended in with the shadows of the clouds, a mirage weaving in and out of sight. A predator, one that understood the meaning of patience even if it had nothing else to its credit, one that was determined to stalk its prey successfully.

After all, time was on  _their_  side.

* * *

_It had taken every ounce of Killian's willpower to hide in the crowd and witness the execution. He had been lucky to not have been caught himself, to have evaded imprisonment unlike the others ― to have been at the wrong place at the right time. Showing up where the bleeding Navy was present was a solid risk to his life, to his identity ― but he couldn't keep away. This was the Captain that had given him his first post, the crew that had made him one of their own. He was bound to all of them ― he couldn't desert them._

_But now they were dead. The magistrate hadn't even allowed them to speak, their parting words an old sea hymn that lauded the pirate's life and his blunt lack of scruples. Just like that, the hangman's noose had choked out their breaths, strangling the old cook down to the little cabin boy. There was no mercy for age, no second thoughts about justice ― only death. Only emptiness._

_First, society forced people to live like rats, scratching for food and water, pleading for the opportunity to survive. Then it butchered them when they would not or could not conform to what was expected, because it was simply not within their reach to begin with. Had his family truly belonged to the "upper class" ― had his father made a profit on the blood of others? Why had he never realized this before, when it was so obvious?_

_Killian peered at himself in the dirty mirror of the inn room, his eyes directed further than his reflection. He was no longer scrawny ― two years of hard manual labor on and below deck had hardened his frame, strengthened his bodily constitution. His face had become taut and slender as well, his skin darkened and weathered by constant exposure to heavy sunlight and varying air. He observed the long dark hair falling down to his shoulders, which he had continued to grow and tie behind his back as was customary. It had never been trimmed._

_He didn't look like a pirate ― he still looked like some rich man's brat, just as the Captain had said when they first met. And he was sick of it. It was high time he clearly demonstrated his true alliances. No more fear._

_Taking up the sharp dagger, he cut violently at the curls without hesitation, reiterating to himself that this was an excellent start._

_He had gotten the earring on a dare when the_ Bloody Mary _had docked at Barbados ― it had been silly and very painful to have his right ear pierced, but now he was glad he had done it. Throwing the red bandana into the furnace, Killian stoked the dying fire. Cindering fragments of hair welcomed their old friend, which had pulled back annoying strands from his eyes._

_Running his hands over his hair, he marveled at its shortness. It was bold and daring, a style unheard of in his day. Even most of the pirates on his ship ― the late pirates, he noted sadly ― had had long hair. And now he would be the most conspicuous of them all._

_Shouldering his pack, he stared down the long piece of glass once more, poking gently at the lines of kohl around the rims of his eyes and careful not to smudge them. Before he had thought only women wore such nonsense, but not anymore ― the contrast actually suited his light irises. His first beard was growing rapidly, dark scruff on his jaw and around his lips, and the assortment of reds and blacks for his apparel was appropriately characteristic of his tastes. Not bad, for a boy of almost twenty. No, a_ man _of twenty. After what he had been through, he deserved that distinction._

_Giving one last glance at the interior of his temporary quarters, Killian said good-bye to the miserable inn that had sheltered his new clairvoyant mentality. Once he was outside after paying the bill, passersby were already leering at him. His leather coat parted slightly to exhibit the blade hanging by his side, the silver cross swinging from his neck, and his hands in his pockets as his boots soldiered on and his hair was rustled by strong wind._

_Even if tomorrow would plunge him into the worst horrors...even if the adventures he would face could cost him his life...even if the price of piracy was too high to pay for any man ― he wouldn't care about that. He didn't care, not when he didn't have anything to lose._

_He was ready. Death could come, and pain would assail him. But he was ready for it all, because he was no longer Killian James, a pampered child whose heart had been broken and beaten and bruised._

_He was Killian Jones. And from the tips of his boots to the core of his bones, he was a pirate._

_Nothing would stand in his way._

* * *


	17. Chapter 17

" _According to my calculations, we should reach Port Royal in four days' time, Captain." Emma emphatically rapped the charts with the stylus, unable to stop the grin tugging at her lips on seeing Killian's proud nod._

" _Aye, lass," he concurred, his eyes fixed on her face, "you are right." When his scrutiny intensified, she blushed, taking a seat on the chair by his desk. He followed her movement by clambering on top of the desk itself right in front of her, his boot-clad legs dangling freely as if he were a little boy sitting on a kitchen counter._

" _You know, love," Killian began, licking his lips, "you never did tell me how you became so articulate in the language of navigation, the study of the stars. Who taught you?"_

 _Emma glanced at him curiously. "Who taught_ you _, Captain?" she countered defiantly, chuckling when he frowned._

" _Always difficult and too stubborn for words, aren't you, dearest Emma?"_

_She winked, smirking widely. "We're more alike than you believe, Killian."_

" _Don't I know it..." Tilting forward, he slowly caressed her cheek with his fingers, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip longingly. The simple touch made her heart soar. "If I tell you...more..." he murmured, looking down, "will you not think less of me?"_

_Rising to her feet, Emma slipped her hands around his neck and leaned against him, her hips nudged by his knees. "You have my word," she whispered, smiling when he sought her lips with his own in a gentle kiss._

_Running his hands down her arms, he breathed deeply, his eyes now closed. His limbs were still, but his earring was trembling slightly. "Do you remember when I said once that I recognized Diane's origins?"_

_That particular conversation was steadfast in her recollections ― but then again, she could recall every moment she had spent with Killian, the memories foremost in her mind._

" _You knew she was born into a life of luxury," she recited, visualizing the past._

" _Aye," he replied, "because I partook of a life of privilege as well." Emma's breathing became ragged. Doc was right: finally, Killian was going to willingly disclose his history. She didn't have to press him ― he_ wanted _her to know._

_When she didn't respond, he continued, searching her expression with that intent blue gaze. "I was born in London, the son of a rich merchant. I wanted for nothing, and if truth be told, I was spoiled by both my parents."_

_She stroked the hair at the nape of his neck. "But you loved it..."_

_The smile on his face could have lit up the darkest room. "When I was little, my mother was my angel, and I idolized my father, always seeking his approval. We were unspeakably happy." Then his eyes dimmed, the radiance gone. "But when Mother died, my world changed forever, Emma."_

" _Darlene..." she whispered._

" _Darlie was..." His voice cracked. "She was born while my mother passed on, but I couldn't help loving her ― she was like golden sunshine, bringing warmth and joy wherever she went. She was...my little darling. The light of my life."_

_The his tone hardened, rage seeping through. "But my father... His hatred and bitterness poisoned what little was good in him, and his cold-blooded attitude led to our estrangement. He did everything possible to make my little sister feel unloved and unwanted. In fact, I never saw her smile unless she was with me...and then I was torn away from her. Sent off to boarding school, only to see her twice a year during holidays and the end of summer term..._

" _But that's where I learned what was needed for a life at sea, dearest Emma. Ironically, my father was the first to show me the stars...he had bought me a telescope when I turned seven years of age, and every night until I was nine, he would point out each of the constellations to me..."_

_When he fell silent, she could only snuggle closer, hoping he was comforted somewhat by her presence._

" _When Darlie died," he voiced abruptly, "I broke off all contact with my father. I was a decent student, but the surroundings were stifling me...so I decided to leave―"_

" _And become a pirate," she inserted._

_He smiled bitterly, watching his own fingers draw figures along her skin. "It sounded adventurous ― and it was a career my father would most certainly despise."_

" _Ah," she remarked, "in that, you and Diane were similar." When he raised a brow, she clarified, "You both were neglected by the persons who ought to have cared for you. What you wanted most...was for him to see your anguish...to feel it too." His hands were wandering down her back, but overall, Killian was distracted, caught in a dark reverie._

_Clearing his throat and glancing at her sideways when she peered at the floor, he suddenly asked, "And what about yourself, lass? I had scores of teachers, many opportunities to practice all this."_

_Emma was observing the sudden glistening at the corners of his eyes, proof of his grief that he held back because he was ashamed to show it. She understood that. When you let your feelings take control, your very soul was open and therefore assailable ― so, naturally, you felt the need to protect it._

_Trying to be cheerful for him, to hide her own bothersome sorrow, she proclaimed softly in his ear, "Books."_

_Killian looked utterly baffled. "What?"_

_She gave him a small half-smile. "First, I stole a compass from a store when I was eight. Then I stole books so I could understand how to use it. Let's just say...I additionally acquired many volumes of related material. And my interest only grew during the passing years."_

_His lips twitched in a reluctant grin. "That's my girl ― determined like no other."_

" _Oh? And how do you figure I'm your girl?" Emma teased, biting her lower lip._

" _'Tis simple, darling. To quote your lovely self, we're alike ― so alike, that it would be a bloody sin to not be together." And then Killian pulled her into another embrace, more ardent than the last._

* * *

When the bottle shattered with a swift  _crack!_ , Emma grinned triumphantly at her gathering audience. Doc was holding back a smile, Leroy was rubbing his hands together with glee, and Killian was...well, he looked unreadable at the moment, but that didn't necessarily mean his reaction was negative. Then again, it didn't have to be positive either.

"Holy turds," mumbled Smarty, who had been passing by on his way to the stern. Now he was standing motionless, his mouth partly open while he gaped.

Fingering the musket carefully, she advanced toward what remained of her target. The bottom glass was intact, but the fragmented outer shards had vanished into the ocean, nearly nothing left of what used to be a former, not-so-innocent container for rum.  _Finally ― not too bad._

It had taken nearly three weeks for her to master how to load the musket and the pistol properly under duress, let alone learn how to shoot. The former was always supported by her right shoulder, the butt of the long stock resting on her muscles steadily, but the disadvantage was that her joints took the brunt of the musket's rebounding force when she fired.

The pistol, on the other hand, had started off as a fatal accident waiting to happen, despite that it presented no immediate threat to her limbs. When she pulled the trigger, the strong recoil from the propelled cartridge had to be accounted for in her aim. The first time that load of trouble had ignited, it all backfired and Smee was forced to jump into a nearby water barrel to avoid being hit. Now, in addition to her helmsman duties and her sword-fighting, she was required by none other than the Captain himself to practice her skill with both weapons daily...

* * *

_Exasperated, Emma plodded to the wooden chest placed nearby the helm and flung herself on it. She had been drilling with the musket for hours now, and she still couldn't hit a single target. A moving vessel and company were an inconvenience for artillery, to say the least._

_Rolling the apple between her fingers, she crossed her legs and bent momentarily to pull out the dagger hidden in her right boot. As her hands took position, blade at the ready, she slowly peeled off the golden red skin, careful to leave as much juicy flesh as possible and keep her carving tool at a safe angle._

" _Very impressive, Swan ― so skilled with a sharp knife, but clumsy with an obtuse shotgun. Who would have thought?"_

_Killian's arms were folded across his chest, his expression denoting the rest of his disbelief._

" _It's not my fault," she replied through gritted teeth, "that I can't ever get a good shot because the damn ship's throwing me back and forth half the time while the bloody musket packs a wallop into my arm!"_

_He looked thoroughly unamused. "Never insult my girl, darling ― your aim's off merely because your methods are incorrect―"_

_That did it. "Well, maybe if someone took the time to show me the_ right _methods instead of 'merely'_ criticizing _me, I wouldn't be scaring off the birds and every being in sight because pulling the trigger causes the gun to explode in my face more often than not!" Emma exclaimed, her voice rising. Sighing brokenly in defeat, she rested her hands on her lap, the dagger embedded in the slightly browning fruit when drops of juice ran down the core to drip onto the floor below._

_Clicking his teeth and tongue together thoughtfully, Killian took a seat next to her. "Emma...look at me?" He was asking, not begging ― requesting, not commanding._

_She sniffled, removing her knife from the apple and cleaning it with her handkerchief. After replacing it in her boot, she inspected the result of her toil, and, peeking sideways, she realized he was staring at her meaningfully. On a strange, unknown impulse, she offered him her apple on the palm of her outstretched hand._

_A very warm smile and pulse-stopping caress later, he was crunching exuberantly, his mouth and attire spotless though his short meal was very moist and flecks of apple were flying through the air._

_Glancing at the endless blue of sky and water beyond the railing, Emma wiped her hands on her handkerchief and took of a sip from the water flask hanging around her neck. It was so easy to get lost in the sea...so painless to lose oneself in its hypnotic depths..._

" _Well, let's go, lass." Killian had tossed the nearly decapitated apple core, its remnants flying over the railing and out of sight._

_She blinked, her legs unresponsive to his suggestion. "Go? Go where?"_

_He gave her a casual smirk, his eyes intent. "You need more lessons, and I'm providing them."_

" _I can't move," she pouted, snapping her eyelids shut. They cracked open slightly when a familiar breath tickled the inside of her ear._

" _You can't move...or you won't move, dearest Emma?" His voice sounded deliberately sinister, with a mild undercurrent of playfulness._

_Shaking her head, Emma jumped to her feet and immediately groaned. Killian was right beside her, commenting, "Would you like me to―"_

" _Don't you dare carry me again, Jones ― I'm not some wench you can throw over your shoulder!" she growled, shaking her index finger warningly. He grinned mischievously._

" _What kind of―"_

_She snapped, "Are you going to teach me or are we going to waste more time arguing?"_

_He leaned in and his lips branded her cheek. "My feisty lass," he whispered before springing away toward the main deck._

* * *

"Now you're downright deadly, love ― quick with a sword and accurate with a gun." Killian's eyes were fixated on Emma's face, now a deep shade of crimson thanks to the penetrating heat from his debonair smirk.

She settled the musket by the railing, its muzzle pointed to the ground. When she let her hand slip away, her fingertips collided with his. He quickly enfolded her hand with his own.

"Isn't that what sets pirates apart, though?" she asked tentatively, savoring the warmth of his touch. "That we're unafraid to kill?"

He raised a brow. "Possibly ― but I've always believed pirates are unafraid to fight. Any man can kill."

"And if you can't fight ― if you don't know how?"

"Then you learn," Killian concluded, his tone serious and impassioned. "A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets."

Emma frowned, letting go of his hold to place her hands in the pockets of her black breeches. "But you can't fight when your hands are tied behind your back, Captain," she murmured before starting to walk away.

He was in front of her, preventing her passage. "Emma..." he pleaded, trying to catch her gaze. "You interpret everything I say personally ― do you honestly think I make no allowances for circumstances, for obstacles?"

When she peered up at him slowly, he came closer, his palm resting on her cheek. "For example...if you hadn't chosen to stay here of your own accord...if you had left...I would have fought for you to stay. I would have done whatever I could to keep you...here." His voice was so tender and soft that she nearly missed his final words.

Ignoring the rapidity of her heartbeat and the powerful way his countenance was affecting her, Emma tried to laugh away how moved she felt. No one had ever offered to fight for her. It almost sounded like...no, that was impossible... "Keep me here? At any cost? Sounds more like kidnapping than affection," she smiled.

"Pirate, love," he defended, a wry grin on his face. However, it didn't meet his eyes. Instead, he looked...disappointed, though he was doing a fair job of hiding his emotions.

* * *

_His hands steadied her arms, his back offering support to her quivering frame. She must feel the heat emanating from his skin, because he could hear the fierce pounding of her heart. He was everywhere, his breath on her neck, his voice in her ear. But so was she. She was near enough that he could smell the fragrance of the oils she used to wash her hair. His face was next to hers, his lips in reach of her lovely cheek. His blood, much like his spirits, was roused._

" _Think of the musket as an extension of your arm, like you do the sword," Killian instructed quietly, admiring the soft curves pressed along his form. Emma was squinting hard, her fingers wrapped around the trigger and the stock as she leaned into him. When he was certain her limbs were positioned correctly, he lowered his hands until they were resting over hers._

" _Keep both eyes open as you measure the distance to your target," he reiterated when she tightened her hold, "and then let go. Take aim, and fire."_

_Emma hesitated for a moment before following his advice. The empty barrel used for shooting practice was suddenly impaled by bullets until she exhausted the rounds._

_Tipping the musket downward, she turned until she was facing him. Smiling, she offered him the now empty gun._

" _The extent of your gratitude, love?" he said with a sly smirk. Pulling her into his arms after tossing the unloaded musket away, he tilted his head. "You know I don't want a gun, milady."_

_Chuckling, she glanced at him, her eyes flickering among his features before settling on his smoldering stare. The sweet, tender kiss she gave him on his cheek was utterly disparaging ― surely she didn't think that would suffice?_

_Growling inwardly, he ravished her mouth ― it was their first kiss revisited. When she responded enthusiastically in kind, he groaned from pleasure while taking her lips again and again. The passion burning between them was nothing in comparison to his feelings for her, intermixed and terrifying as they were._

_It was not even half a year since she had joined his crew, but he could not remember what life was like without her, say, a year ago. He could not bring those recollections to mind, because he did not want to._

_Perhaps...perhaps Providence had sent her to him ― his past was dead, but she was his present. No, she was his future, and he wouldn't lose her._

_Reveling in her pleased sighs, he reluctantly parted from her. They were both breathing heavily, his hands now on her waist while hers palmed his chest._

_She whispered, "I thought you were supposed to be teaching me how to shoot."_

_Half-smiling, Killian brushed his lips against hers once more. "I believe you've mastered the technique..." He began to slowly kiss her neck, smirking again when she gasped. "But let us see if you've hit the target."_

_After a quick inspection of the barrel, he whistled lowly. "Very nice, Emma ― you've managed to rupture every inch of the surface_ except _the center."_

_Emma rolled her eyes in frustration. "A week of lessons but no progress? I must be the worst shot in the world!" she complained, crossing her arms over her chest._

_He tsked. "So dramatic. You have no faith in yourself, lass ― all the bullets caught the barrel, so your aim is certainly improving. Give it some time, hmm?"_

_She pursed her lips, looking at him incredulously with one lifted brow. "You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"_

" _Trust me, darling," he reminded sultrily, "I don't need to_ say _anything to make you_ feel _better. Should I give you another demonstration of my skills?"_

_She only bit her lip in reply and peered downward, blushing deeply._

* * *

"Killian, after what happened, are you certain Port Royal is safe?"

Lowering his spyglass, he took a sip of rum from his flask, his eyes descending to her boots. "We need more supplies, and we have to sell the booty we acquired from that merchant vessel. The men are getting restless, and they need their pay... Frankly, I have no choice, love. Navy vulture or not, we  _have_  to dock."

Emma adjusted her grip on the helm, taking it two notches to port. "It won't be as easy as it was in Tortuga, will it?" she asked worriedly. It was nearly a month since the terrible storm, with no sign of the Navy ship that had attacked so mysteriously. However, neither she nor Killian could shake off the feeling that it was out of sight nearby, a circling hawk.

He shook his head. "No, it will not. We'll have to go in groups, and preferably at night."

Bother. It was five months since she had last sent money to Regina ― if she didn't get an opportunity during daylight to search the town for where they kept the post...

"Will I accompany you in your group, Captain?"

His response was a wide smile. "Only if you wear that incredible blue dress again," he winked suggestively, leering.

"God, Killian," she retorted, "will you never stop?"

In a flurry of rapid movement, Emma found herself flipped around and pinned against the helm, her body aligning with Killian's.

"No, my dear," he countered, his nose nudging hers, "I won't. I  _can't_. Not with you."

His hands were running down her sides, his touch searing, his gaze inviting and seductive. He made it so easy for her to give in, to raise her walls and forget her inhibitions.

Just as he was about to come closer, his head leaning forward, the loud sound of a throat being cleared pointedly drew his focus away from her.

Doc's amused smile was painstakingly concealed by a hastily arranged frown. "Isn't that rather inappropriate behavior, Captain?" he rebuked, his tone provocative as he trudged into the wind and shut the door leading to the lower deck.

Killian shrugged, grinning. Emma's arms were now around his waist, her face snuggling with his chest. "How can it be inappropriate, Doc, when it makes her so happy?" He winced when she kicked at his foot in warning.

The doctor tried and failed to smother his answering laughs, finally biting the inside of his lip to adopt a blank expression. "Ahem...I just wanted to let you know that the hold has a bit of a...vermin problem."

The Captain's face blanched. "A rat infestation, you mean?"

"Yes...the food is disappearing. Quickly. When Soupy and I went down there to take a look, we saw them skittering around the cargo." Doc looked disgusted. "It's a good thing we're docking soon ― one of the items we'll need to acquire in Port Royal is a cat, and a darn good rat catcher at that."

"Ugh." Emma wrinkled her nose. "The orphanage I escaped from had rats ― but no matter what the matron did, they kept coming back."

"Some of the goods we took from our merchant friends must have been already infested with them," Killian mused, "but as long as we keep them contained in one chamber and not let them spread to any other part of the ship, we should manage until the new ship's cat arrives."

She repressed a grin. "A kitten?"

"No, Swan," he corrected, "a cat. I don't have time to raise a babe."

Emma pouted. "But―"

"No buts," he interrupted, withdrawing from her embrace to approach the entrance to the lower deck. "We have larger issues at hand than debating whether to rescue a stray kitten from the streets of Port Royal or not."

She groaned when he slammed the door behind him. "He can be so―"

"Infuriating?" Doc offered with a wry half-smile.

"Confusing," she corrected, shaking her head in dismay. "Is he ever serious?"

"I believe you've asked me that very question before..."

"You know what I mean, Doc. Can he for once not be so contrary?" she huffed.

Doc sidled over to the helm, his eyes set on the horizon. "You're irked because you disagree with his choice ― but it wouldn't hurt to trust his judgment, would it? And besides, cat or kitten, it's irrelevant. We need to solve the problem, not argue how to solve it. A kitten needs time to mature, so I agree with Killian ― we need a grown cat."

"Ah, but kittens are so cute and fuzzy, don't ya think?" Leroy interposed as he walked by, carrying a bundle of very thick rope in the direction of the mast.

Suddenly, in the light of Grumpy's unexpected commentary and the frivolous nature of their conversation, the tension and anxiety brewing in Emma snapped. She burst into laughter, Doc joining in moments later.

"You know what I think?" the doctor remarked once the echoes of their laughs were completely gone. "I think we need a break on land ― being at sea for too long a period of time does things to a person."

She hiccuped lightly, careful not to let it disrupt her steering. "Now on that, Doc, I fully agree."

* * *

Port Royal was not like Tortuga at all. At its best, it was almost elegant, the tall, regal houses signifying the many wealthy inhabitants who owned every panel of wood and every brick. At its worst, the city was alarming. There were soldiers pacing at every corner. Unlike in the town of pirates, Port Royal was decidedly a no-nonsense colony, where the militia ruled with a tight fist and much artillery under the faraway observant eye of the English throne.

At least, that was what it looked like during the day, when she confidently had taken in the panorama from the crow's nest. Nighttime was a different story. One wrong move, and they would be thrown into prison, Emma thought with a shudder.

The air was brisk and cool, the wind light. She drew the long, black leather around her figure more tightly, peeking at Killian for reassurance. They now had matching coats after she had made a special effort to grab one identical to his while in Tortuga.

"Why again," she inquired for the second time, "do we have to go to this tavern again? It's like asking for trouble, stepping into a lair belonging to other pirates. I bet the soldiers in this city have them all pinpointed on a map."

"If that were true, lass, the bloody Tories would have cleaned out pirates altogether from this sodding town." Killian ruffled his hair with a brief shake as a shower of rain began to fall from the gray clouds above.

There was something he wasn't telling her. He knew she could tell when he was lying, like he did her, so instead, he was deftly avoiding the question. The most important one.

When they neared the entrance to their destination, the yellow-orange light from the lanterns a welcome marker in the dismal darkness, Emma acted on her intuition. Before he could march inside, she pushed him by the encompassing building, its thatched roof providing some relief from the increasing downpour.

"What are you holding back, Killian?" she demanded, her fingers digging into the fabric of the white shirt underneath his coat. He clenched his jaw, biting his tongue in an effort to calm himself down.

"Emma..." He swallowed hard, his eyes darkening.

"Tell me the truth," she insisted. " _Please._  I want to know what I'm walking into."

He hesitated. "Well, to put it bluntly...the Navy has a bounty on my head."

* * *

The drinks Killian ordered were just resting on the table, the contents in each glass untouched. They were mere props for show.

All around, persons of all backgrounds were rowdily spewing alcohol and throwing cards on the table, coins clanking down on wood and the high-pitched giggles of painted harlots lengthening the unending noise. But all Emma could hear and see was her Captain, silently brewing over the story he had just told her.

It seems that all those years as a pirate had not been wholly spent in pursuit of money, glory, and freedom. Killian had met and conquered Navy vessels right and left, true, but he also had attacked merchant ships with a vengeance ― revenge reserved for one particular merchant.

For years, he had followed his father's ventures and profits, sought out the ships he had hired. And every time one of those was caught in his clutches, Killian had destroyed it without mercy. To destroy  _him_ , because money was only thing that mattered to him. He did not love ― he was ruled by hate. He was the enemy, the killer. And he had to be punished.

But Killian's pride had been treacherous. His father had discovered through not-so-subtle hints and purposely scribbled messages that his only son was responsible for his displeasure ― and powerful as he was, he had gone to his  _friends_  for help. His connections on the top rungs of the social ladder.

Now the crew of the  _Jolly Roger_  was sneaking in the night, wary of the shadows that would make themselves known to be militia soldiers. Wary of the cannons that would seek them out until the timbers of Killian's beloved ship would be burnt to ashes.

It was time to end the loud thoughts crowding her mind.

"Can you trust your contact, though?"

He looked up at her, confusion etched in his expression. "Aye, I believe so...but..." he lifted the corner of his coat until she could see the glint of silver, "my friend here will be in sight in case the man gets any wrong ideas."

She instinctively checked that her scabbard was completed by a familiar protruding hilt. "If he brings a gun to a swordfight?"

Killian leaned in, his smile matching the sombre misery and resolution in his gaze. "Then I count on you to disarm him and shove that pistol down his throat before anyone notices. Savvy, love?"

"You're uncomfortable handling guns?" Emma smirked, propping her elbow on the table and resting her face against her hand.

He chuckled. "No, it's not the handling..." he confided, lowering his voice to a husky whisper, "...I'm a terrible shot, truth be told ― well, I manage when needed, but my aim's always off."

Taking a swallow of the rum before him, he grimaced. "I never liked the bloody things anyway ― too time-consuming and not as straightforward as the sword."

She was staring at her own glass in apprehension. "You're saying that if it comes down to a gunfight, our lives are in my hands?"

Killian caught her sight, deep blue smoldering and burning blue-green with unquenchable flame. "If you recall, Swan, I trust you."

When she bit her lip nervously, his hand slipped over hers and gripped it gently. "Believe me, darling."

His lips by her ear, he repeated what they had discussed before leaving the ship. "My men are stationed all over this room ― sending them on ahead separately from us was an excellent idea, Emma. Remember: when my contact arrives, maintain eye contact and deflect any irrelevant questions he asks if he addresses you. Most of all, do not tell him you work for me ― we want to have the upper hand if he becomes unreasonable."

Emma brushed her lips over his as if they were becoming intimate. The simple red dress under her partly open coat was enough of a disguise, but like in Tortuga, she had to act her part well. Still, that wouldn't prevent her sword-belt from keeping its position around her hips, the sword itself hidden well by the leather. "But will I have to kill him, Killian?" she asked while he left hot kisses over her jawline and down her throat. The rum was talking now...wasn't it?

He muttered against her skin, "Do what you have to do. When the moment comes to decide, you'll know." When he nipped at her collarbone, she moaned, a hand threading through his hair as he edged closer to her, their bodies inches apart. When he pulled her onto his lap, his fingers teasing and persistent, she found his mouth and claimed it passionately. This was no longer pretense or the courage of alcohol ― no, this was real―

"Are you Killian Jones?" a scratchy, irritated voice posed.

Emma broke away from Killian, her arms around his shoulders and his hands on her waist. One glance at his face confirmed her deduction.

"Who's asking?" he responded finally with a cheeky grin, turning to eye the stranger from head to toe.

"Name's Claude ― I was asked to see Mr. Jones as a matter of urgency...to purchase some cargo?

He narrowed his eyes for a moment before clearing his expression. His transformation, from suspicious to naïvely trusting, was an unparalleled talent, in Emma's opinion.

"It's  _Captain_  Jones,  _Claude_ ," Killian drawled, "but please, do take a seat." He was ignoring her introduction to avoid unnecessary attention ― they had agreed it was for the best ― but the pretended slight still stung a bit. She didn't really look like a tavern wench, after all, so what was the point?

The tall, brawny man obliged, pulling a chair from the table with an offending screech. His deep, offsetting scowl could certainly break glass if confronted with a mirror.

When she crawled back onto her own chair, listening partly to their conversation, Emma puzzled over why she felt not at ease. Claude had come alone, as expected, and the fat moneybag slinging from the belt around his obtrusive paunch testified to his desire to buy. But when she had looked at the man, her spine had tingled. Chills had ran through her skin, the warmth from the stolen kiss gone. Trouble. Trouble was coming. And she didn't know how to warn Killian, not when she was supposed to speak only when spoken to. They were lost in speech, not noticing her at all. She was invisible.

But the invisible never won.

* * *

Danger sneaked. Danger hid. And then it pounced, sprang, clawed. It never manifested itself politely, never asked for permission to intrude. It came as it wished and left terror in its wake.

Emma tried to cease the way her legs trembled and her arms shook when Claude bargained with the Captain over the price, the man's small, pig-like eyeballs flickering to the door like that of an opportunistic weasel. He was so occupied in his searching that he didn't see her puzzled stare. How could she motion to Killian that his contact was a traitor? She could grab his pistol and lodge its muzzle against his neck ― if he even had a pistol on his person to begin with ― but what if she was wrong and they'd lose their only chance to sell the merchant goods?

In the midst of everything, someone started a brawl. It must have originated at the corner of the bar, spreading until it reached them. Glass and the stench of sour rum flew across the room, a racket growing louder and louder until she couldn't differentiate pain-filled screams from drunken yells. And then red and white burst through the tavern doors, a flash of brown weaving through the dense commotion.

Soldiers. Swarms of soldiers, like ants crawling over the ground until nothing else could be seen. A response to the violence, or...something else?

Killian jumped to his feet, reaching for his sword, but Claude grinned evilly before rapidly swinging his fist at his face, grunting when Killian braced his arms and instead kicked his stomach with his foot. Emma felt frozen, watching as the crewmen they'd brought with them from the  _Jolly_  were dragged into scuffles with those invested in the brawl, distracted by their current opponents. And worst of all, the soldiers just watched after they took their posts. They didn't move, their muskets at the ready.

"Killian!" she shrieked when she saw Claude pull out a long, sharp knife. She should have throttled him when she had the chance ― because now he was going to kill Killian. He never had a chance to pull out his sword, not when the traitor was swiping at him busily. What should she do? What―

"Emma, run! Go back to the  _Jolly_!" He was fighting desperately, now outnumbered as men from the brawl joined Claude in his threats. Were they together with him?

When the knife wavered dangerously close to Killian's throat, Emma hardened, deserting her fears and her panic.  _Enough_. She would never leave him.  _Never_.

Yanking out her sword from its scabbard, she ran at Claude, not caring about the dagger in the hand of a grimy pirate right by his side.

She had never dreamed, even in her nightmares, that she would dare to  _attempt_  to stab a man. A human. A person. But here she was, thrusting her blade through flesh and bone until she heard Claude's death cry, her sword in his chest. Yanking it out forcefully and then replacing it in its scabbard, she could only gape at his falling body, blooding spurting onto the floor, the shock and relief in Killian's face afterwards. In reply, he punched the nearest man assaulting him.

Before she could go to him, her exposed sword-belt was ripped away, and pain immediately registered in her side. It made her writhe and stop short, unable to go on. Blood was on her fingertips when she touched the grievous area ―  _her_  blood.  _The dagger._  The wound tore open more when she rolled on the ground, vocalizing her torment in a silent scream.

She could see him, but barely ― he was calling for her, pummeling his way through a sea of wrestling bodies to get to her. But the more he struggled, the farther they were separated.

Somehow, the brawl, accidental or designed, had worked to their advantage, the crew finally breaking free. They were surrounding Killian, helping him reach the open door like loyal bodyguards. There were so many men and women intermeshed in the small space that the soldiers were pushed along with them, the ones guarding the entrance running to help another who was being brutally beaten by several pirates.  _They_  didn't see a member of the Royal Army ― he was just a common man in their way.

"Killian!" she cried hoarsely, tears cascading down her cheeks when she saw his heartbreak as she lay on the dirt-encrusted floor. He was hitting his own men in a frenzied effort to find her, the pain she felt written in his widened stare. His motions were almost beast-like when he clambered towards her, the strong grasp of his crewmen pulling him backwards.

"Let me go, damn you ― Emma!  _EMMA_!" he screamed.

It hurt...it hurt so much, but she had no choice ― he couldn't save her. The men were right: he had to leave, to save his own life and those of his crew.

It was no accident that the militia had come here, that Claude had betrayed Killian ― he must have been bribed. They had known Killian would be here...they had come for him, fully prepared, letting another man do their dirty work before they arrested what was left of their prey. Their plan must have been to take him alive.

"Go," she indicated with a blood-stained hand, "go and save yourself." She used the last of her strength to raise her voice, her vision blurring. Heaven help her if that pirate's dagger had been poisoned...

He grappled one last time with his handlers, his handsome features twisted with self-loathing and horror. "Emma, no! Don't give up! I  _will_  find you! I promise you!" he shouted turbulently, his men tugging him through the opening.

* * *

He was gone. And rain was still pattering on the cobblestones. Her last hope was gone out the door.

She couldn't move ― every muscle, every fiber of her being was strained from agony.  _Killian...my Killian...now you'll never know how much I care for you..._ Blackness was inking her eyes now, and she couldn't see either.  _This was a nightmare...please let it be a nightmare..._

Booted feet stood by her face, taunting her. She could discern muffled voices, swollen shadows overhead. And then she was being lifted, her figure lying on the bottom of some wooden surface.

Rhythmic jolts awakened her for a second, and she saw the pointed tip of a bayonet. No...no, no no. The carriage was tossing her body, her teeth gritted to quiet her groans.

"Don't worry," a deep, nameless voice commented sarcastically, "this is the simplest part of the journey. It's where we'll stop that you should fear."

Resounding chortles and cruel sniggers echoed in her ears, and Emma suddenly wanted to be asleep. To be gone. Her wish was granted when she welcomed the spreading unconsciousness, her last thought of Killian. The undeniable caring he had shown her would keep her warm until she met her Maker...

_Good-bye, Killian...farewell, my dear, dear love..._

* * *

When they climbed up the ramp to the  _Jolly Roger_ , the rain was pouring heavily, angrily. And every step Killian took was heavy and angry as well ― furious with his men, and himself. He hadn't saved her. Like Darlene. They both were innocent, and he had failed to save them.

Doc ran to Killian when he crushed his fist into the wood of the railing, his deep scream echoing through the sheets of sky-sent water.

"Killian, what the hell happened?" When the Captain only sullenly observed the rivulets of blood flowing with raindrops down his hand, not replying, Doc grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard.

"Pull yourself together, man ― what in tarnation is going on?" The doctor glanced at the solemn crewmen heading for the lower deck. "Where is Emma?"

He couldn't help it. After years of withdrawing, of locking his emotions behind in the bottom of his soul, Killian cracked.

Then, with an animalistic, heart-rending sob, he shattered.

"She's gone, Doc ―  _they_  took her." He wanted to jump into the ocean and let the waves take him. He couldn't lose her.  _He couldn't._

But he had. He shouldn't have let her go ashore with him ― he should have done this alone. How could he have been so damn bloody  _foolish_?

Doc was quiet, his tight glower sufficient. "What now? They know we're here, obviously. It's only a matter of time before they find us," he concluded, crossing his arms. Killian wiped at his wet cheeks, allowing the rain to beat his skin and his clothes.

Looking downward, he stood still, unmoving. Waiting.

It never failed. It always came. That familiar feeling, the one that had persuaded him to leave his father, to take the  _Jolly Roger_.

_It's called courage, m'boy._

He glared up unseeingly at the doctor, his hand on his sword. "I'm not leaving her behind ― I've lost too many and too much. I  _won't_  sacrifice her. She will not die. Not her."

"So what are you going to do, Captain?" Doc asked challengingly, his tone caustic.

One corner of Killian's lips turned up in a manic, deadly half-smile, his pupils dilated so that the blue of his irises was washed out.

"I'm going after her ― I'm going to get her back, even if it's the last thing I do. Even if all of Hell itself bars my path."

* * *


	18. Chapter 18

Every part of her body ached. Her arms and legs felt numb and lifeless like blocks of wood, while the rest contracted repeatedly from continuous spasms of bone-crippling, mind-splitting pain. Her head was being ripped in two, nailed in and wrenched out until she just wanted to leave her bloodied, suffering corpse behind. Hours or days might have passed when she was entombed in delirium, her feverish skin drenched with sweat and her thoughts addled as she twisted and turned in a nightmare-filled sleep. It was too much to withstand.

But she did, sighing when the rough, jagged edges of her torture softened, relaxing when the sharp pangs faded slightly. Finally, she could open her eyes and gauge her surroundings.

Eyelids fluttering warily, Emma tried to straighten her sore limbs before sitting up. That turned out to be a terrible idea, as she nearly bit her tongue off in an effort to stifle an involuntary yell.

Crawling slowly until her back met a hard wall, she peered down at her battle wound. It seemed to be bandaged, and when she tentatively lifted the now stained cloth, she saw that the cut was healing. She must have been stabbed at an angle; however, though the pirate's dagger could gone in deeply and ruptured her vitals, the sutures were firm, and there was no sign of infection. And she was still fully dressed and in possession of Diane's locket, which was one small mercy. They must have checked her for weapons already. Oh no...her sword... It was gone ― again.

Whoever had kidnapped her must want her alive, not dead, if they had taken the trouble to mend her injuries. And when she dared to glance around, she realized exactly why.

Not this again... Flat, thick criss-crossed metal poles rose up from the cold stone ground up to the damp ceiling, confining her on every side. The cell was filthy, stinky, and frigid, no different from the one in London she had had the misfortune to habituate for a while. Gaols were all the same, no matter where you were.

The chains clinging the manacles around her hands rattled as she shifted, catching the attention of her guard.

"Well, looky here ― the pirate's whore is awake," the soldier sneered. Despite the brightness of his colorful army uniform and his shiny black boots, the evident contempt and cruelty in his promiscuous leer made him look unkempt and foul.

In that moment, she longed for Killian ― hoped that he had escaped safely, hoped that he remembered her. She wanted him to come, to hold her in his arms and chase her fears away after taking her out of this horrible place. But...he could be leagues out on the ocean, sailing as rapidly to another port as possible. The  _Jolly_  could be long gone by now.

While her gaoler continued to deride and abuse her as much as he could through the cell bars, Emma tuned out his antagonizing voice and settled on her best option. She had to believe she was alone in this, because relying on a rescuer was equivalent to sentencing herself to death. No matter whom she would face, she had to keep her wits about her...and it didn't hurt that she still had her boots. When the time came, she would act quickly and strike hard.

Killian had promised he would return, but there was no guarantee of that. After all, he  _was_  a pirate. Pirates abandoned those who fell behind ― they didn't go saving damsels in distress. Hah, that probably was her current status quo: a maiden in danger. However, she had saved his life ― an odd fact that gave her pause ― so her debt, technically, was repaid. There was no real reason why he should come for her.

 _But he's also a gentleman_ , her heart nudged.  _He wanted to save you in the tavern, but you commanded him to go. He does care about you..._  Despair suffocated that hope. "Hmph," Emma muttered bitterly to herself, "that's a walking contradiction right there."

"Ah, she does speak!" came the guard's taunting snicker. "Well, I'd better tell my commander his guest is ready for him ― wouldn't want to intrude on your beauty sleep later, now would I?" He licked his lips, rubbing his crotch licentiously. When Emma spit in his face and missed, he laughed loudly before turning on his booted heel to exit the room. The instant he did and she was certain she was alone, she began to pick at her cuffs, reaching for her hidden dagger.

Wait...was this wise? It wouldn't do to run at the time she was due to be questioned and was expected somewhere ― no, she had to try when it was either chaotic or extremely still. Assuming she was inside Port Royal's main military fort, she would need a good opportunity to slip away unseen and make allowances for her unfamiliarity with the new location. It wasn't like she had a map of the damn place at her disposal...

Emma jerked upward and then groaned loudly, unsure which joints to rub when they were all sensitive. A map ― yes, that would work! She'd need to pilfer one, grab a sword, and charge her way out of here...though what she would do once she was loose on the streets with nowhere to go was another problem...

The clanking and creaking of the cell door being unlocked interrupted her planning. "He'll see you now ― you're to come with me." This wasn't the bastard who had ogled her ― this soldier was almost a boy, clean-shaven and little taller than her height, and he must have been so light of foot that she hadn't even heard him come in.

When he silently escorted her, blindfolded and in chains, to wherever he was taking her, she didn't struggle ― there was no point, and she didn't want to end up in a worse predicament then she was already in. She could only pray that she would have the strength to confront the person ― or persons ― responsible for throwing her into quarters no bigger than a bloody undersized square quilt.

Limping heavily and forced to lean against the soldier when she almost collapsed, the sudden sight of the opulent mahogany doors was a quite welcome halt. Steadying her, he mumbled "good luck" under his breath before knocking nervously on the polished wood.

* * *

He had always despised wearing furs, but his dislike of them was heightened by their nonsensical use in Caribbean weather. Furs were tacky and hard to clean. Still, he had no choice ― he had to look like a wealthy snob, and it wasn't like he had anything else remotely similar in his wardrobe. But the damn coat was wearing his patience thin. Scratching again at the lined material, Killian was very tempted to tear it off and stomp on it out of spite. He felt like his father's son all over again in this gaudy attire, and he  _hated_  it.

Doc was pacing in the alley they had agreed to meet, the rest of the crew protecting the ship. After Emma's capture, the  _Jolly Roger_  had been immediately docked further down the island, nestled in greenery far away from the view of the harbor, so getting to the heart of Port Royal was a hell of a walk. Staying invisible for two days straight for everyone's sake had nearly driven the Captain mad.

"Well?" Killian asked when he reached the doctor's side. "What did you find out?"

Glaring at the fake tobacco pipe he was absently chewing on, Doc threw it onto the ground forcefully and stepped on it. "It's as we suspected: she's being held in the fort prison...and according to the rumors, it seems like she was taken in for questioning this morning. No one knows her name, though ― she's being referred to as 'the golden-haired firebrand'."

He clenched his jaw, his temper rising. "Have they mistreated her?"

"There's no word yet, Captain ― but you know the fort commander. If he has orders from...other sources...he won't hesitate to do as he sees fit in order to finish the task. He will have no scruples because she's a woman." Doc reluctantly lifted his other hand, showing Emma's sword-belt and scabbard. "The bar keeper gave me this ― it was found on the floor...after they took her."

It was difficult to control the anger storming inside, but he tried. He needed to concentrate on Emma, not his pitiful reactions. The latter would only get him killed.

"Killian..." Doc was looking at him with concern. "To break into the fort is very risky ― it could be, in fact, what your father's mercenaries are expecting you to do. They took Emma for a purpose―"

He snapped back, "I know  _that_ , Doc! However, they most likely guessed Emma's importance when she killed Claude to stop him from killing me. Even if we presume they have no idea of my attachment to her, they are aware of hers to me. That's the bloody trouble ― they'll use my well-being as leverage to get her to talk and tell them more."

The doctor narrowed his eyes. "That's all you're worried about? That she'll  _talk_?"

Growling, Killian pulled at the clasps of the fur coat. "No. That's not bloody why, and you know it. Damn it, she sacrificed herself for me! And no one ―  _no one_  ― has ever done something like that for me before. Not even... _Milah_."

They both stared down at the dirt, not speaking. That woman was still a raw memory in their minds, even after all these years. Willing that scar to close once more, Killian abruptly offered the sack in his hand to Doc.

"All else has been taken care of. Claude was working singly, as far as I've discovered, so I managed to sell and buy all that was needed ― it's amusing how some things never change when you wear the right clothes and say the correct drivel. By the way...I sent four men to haul one of my purchases to the ship," he said, grinning crookedly. "I wager that by the end of today, they'll be fuming at me...but their achievement will be worth the aftermath."

"You  _are_  mad ― how you did all that in a matter of hours is beyond me," Doc replied nonchalantly, his eyes widening when he peeked inside the canvas bag. His face subsequently turned red. "What on earth  _did_  you purchase that half the coins are gone? It's been less than four days since we arrived here!"

"Oh, nothing of consequence," he brushed off, carefully dusting his fine garments to avoid the doctor's livid glance.

"Liar."

"Well, dear doctor, we  _are_  pir―"

"Excuses, Captain ― and since you say 'all has been taken care of,' I'd suggest you recall the list one more time. You're missing an item." Doc shrugged when the Captain lifted an eyebrow inquiringly. "Shame on you if you've forgotten ― I'll see you at the ship, hopefully without the militia running after you."

It was only when the doctor had eased around the corner, out of sight, that Killian palmed his face out of aggravation, running his other hand through his hair. "Damn it to hell ― I didn't get the bloody  _cat_."

* * *

When Emma was unceremoniously shoved through the opening created by the two doors, it was to find the room empty. There was a large, black walnut desk in the center, bookshelves lining the walls. Right above the desk and its corresponding chair was a large, framed map of the Western World, trade routes and recently annexed British territory on a smaller map beside it.

If whoever situated these chambers considered maps to be important enough to hang above his head, he surely must have a simple map of the fort...

 _Speak of the devil._  Inching near the desk cautiously, Emma glanced at its surface to see a very smudged, damaged copy of something similar to a map thrown to the side of an assortment of papers and scrolls, all tumbled together in a wayward mess.

After peeking around to ascertain that there was indeed no one there, she plucked the map hastily and unfurled it.  _Eureka_. It was rudimentary and rather crude, but the entire fort's composition was outlined in bold lines, interior rooms and exterior structures all delineated with an architect's hand. Now the main obstacle was figuring out which room she was in, as the prison was not marked out or designated all all... And because the fort was one story tall, there were two levels to the square-shaped building that more or less encircled adjacent stables, forges, and armories belonging to the Crown, as well as lodging for all those soldiers...

Never mind that. The problem was whether she was upstairs or downstairs. Since she had not ascended any stairs to reach this particular room from her cell, she was still on the same level, whichever one that was. If downstairs, she could steal through an open window somewhere. If upstairs...things would become more complicated than they already were.

Folding the map in six, she leaned down slowly and slipped the parchment under the hem of her boot. That hiding place was getting old...but miraculously, her dagger was still there, concealed as well as ever, along with her other items of value.

The floor creaked suddenly, and from nowhere a man entered the chambers, closing a door camouflaged to look like the wall behind him. Hmm, there wasn't just one way to get out of here... Emma moved her hand up casually so that he wouldn't become suspicious ― she couldn't lose her boots.

The middle-aged stranger was dressed fashionably well according to the latest standards, his long, brown hair tied behind his head. He was wielding a hefty scabbard, but he was not in uniform. "Since I am still unaware of your name, I believe introductions are first in order," he began, his voice mellow and fluid. His tone, however, was austere.

"I am Commander Witkins ― I am in charge of Fort Royal, and I keep the peace here. A few nights ago, my men intercepted a scuffle in the Rabbit Hole. You were lying on the ground, bleeding profusely, when one of my soldiers found you."

He had taken a seat by the desk, staring up at her with cold, unblinking eyes. When she didn't elaborate on anything he had said so far, he continued. "Would you care to explain what a lady such as yourself was doing there in the company of pirates?"

Her breathing was growing shallow, her eyesight blurry. Here we go...step one: interrogation.

"Who said I was accompanying any pirates?" she replied stiffly, her head held high. It would do no good for him to get under her skin and exert pressure. He was already guiding her into an intricate web of lies, where he would trap her, tie her down, and break out the truth. She could not let that happen.

"Oh? You went to this tavern alone and of your own free will?" He was perusing the chaos on the top of his desk, pretending to ignore her.

Emma sidestepped his tactic. "I was a casualty of the brawl ― I was stabbed by someone I didn't know and left to die. How does that fact call for you to throw me into prison and treat me like a criminal?"

In an instant, he had sprang from his chair and marched toward her, his face right in front of hers. She could smell the scent of tobacco in his hard breath.

"You, miss, will address me as 'sir' when you speak to me," he snarled, his calm demeanor gone as he grabbed her chains and gave them a rough yank forward, "and yes, you were dropped into a cell under my orders because anyone who can use a sword to kill a man in cold blood is a  _criminal_."

Uh-oh...the game was up. He knew she had killed Claude...but did he know why? Had one of his soldiers in fact seen Killian in that tavern?

As quick as a flash, his expression of pure fury had transformed back into a collected, cool façade. "What is your name, girl?" he demanded.

"No name, sir," she replied through gritted teeth, wincing when the iron of her shackles cut into the bruised skin of her wrists.

He smiled mirthlessly. "No name? You are one of those nameless harlots, perhaps, who was paid to be with the pirates―"

"I'm no man's whore,  _sir_ ," she spat out.

"But you saved his life. You know who he is and where we can seek him out."

Emma could feel her face whiten, draining of blood and life when she realized just how much Witkins knew. He wanted Killian, and he was prepared to use her to get to him.

Clearing her throat, she croaked out, "I don't know who you are talking about ― I told you I don't know who stabbed―"

He pulled the chains tighter together, making her hands protest in pain from the strain and loss of blood. "You stupid,  _foolish_  girl. Killian Jones has to pay his due, as all wretched filth do. Why protect such a faithless,  _worthless_  man who has abandoned you? He  _deserted_ you ― pirates have no loyalties ― and he will merely take the next appealing strumpet he finds in your place."

 _He's trying to manipulate me, provoke my fears._  Her teeth clacked together when he abruptly drew her closer. She muttered in response, "I killed that bastard in self-defense, to protect  _myself_. I don't know anyone called Killian Jones."

Instead of gripping her harder, he paused, staring into her eyes. She felt paralyzed under his scrutiny, worrying what would occur afterwards. If he didn't buy her story, or the miserable pieces of it, the next step was not one she would survive, not if the tales she had heard about soldiers while aboard the  _Titan_  were true...

"You know what I think, pirate whore?" He grabbed her by the throat with his free hand, making her gag reflexively. "I think you're a  _liar_. I've been instructed by some very important people to retrieve Jones, and I plan to deliver him  _gift-wrapped_ , with or without your help."

"What ― about ― the Queen?" Her strength was trickling out her lungs, air now a precious commodity. He was going to kill her, right here and right now. Sick bastard. And no one would even know... Part of her wanted to yield, but the other half was boiling. It was goading her to rebellion, urging her to fight. Which should she listen to?

"Which one? We're in Jamaica ― the royal court's in England. Here,  _my_  decisions are law, especially when it comes to dealing with your kind."

When Witkins grinned darkly as she wheezed plaintively in his choke-hold, Emma formed her resolve. There were people out there who needed her, and she was not going to die alone in some  _sadist's_  chambers. This was her life, and she was going to live it ― preferably for a long time.

Her hands were useless while he dominated them, so she did what her instincts suggested: with an upward thrust, her right knee drove itself forcefully into the man's groin, her respective foot landing purposely on his with a loud crunch. When he automatically released her, she utilized her bound fists to smack hard at his nose. The result was his yells of pain and a pose of utter helplessness, and as soon as she could, she stepped backward away from him, her chains rolling on the floor to lie around her ankles.

The mahogany doors burst open, four soldiers barging in with muskets at the ready. "Sir?" one of them inquired when they saw their writhing commander.

"Take her―" he uttered in fragments, "―and give her fifteen. The damn bitch  _attacked_  me."

"No, he tried to strangle me ― he tried to kill me!" she shrieked in her defense, struggling when two of them grabbed her by the arms and dragged her to the door.

"Lies. Why would I do that when I personally asked the army surgeon to tend to you?"

When she managed to turn around, chest heaving, Witkins was glowering. "Mark my words: by the time my men are done with you,  _Emma_ ," he threatened with a sneer, "you will wish you had told me all you know. Have a nice trip to the hangman's noose ― the fate of all murdering, double-crossing pirates."

* * *

They threw her into her old cell, the back of her dress now in ribbons. Blood from the raw lashes ran down to drip into a pool of water. They bit and stung ― it was like someone had torn her skin off, the feeling of the leather whip snagging and ripping her flesh still vivid.

Emma had restrained her tears and cries during the whole ordeal, the memory of one soldier whipping her while the others jeeringly looked on as hurtful as the wounds themselves. Afterwards, they had beaten her cruelly, kicking at her ribs and limbs and face until she couldn't move.

But now she was free to let the agony go.

She lay down on the filthy ground, covering her face with her hands as sobs racked her haggard frame and the repetitive movement made her cringe. She would never see Killian again ― they were going to interrogate her once more in the morning before leading her to the gallows.

When her wails had ceased and she was sitting up, wiping the remaining tears from her cheeks, an unusually accented voice commented suddenly, "For what it's worth, I think you were very brave to stand up to them."

Emma squinted until her vision adjusted to the darkness. "Is someone there?" she whispered, moving backward until she hit the wall.

A figure slithered in the shadows of the next cell, crawling up until her nose was pressed against the bars. "Don't be scared ― I'm just your new cellmate."

"How do you know that I stood up to them?" she countered suspiciously after a minute's hesitation.

The girl ― she looked to be about Emma's age ― chuckled without humor. "The bleeding backlashes and bruises all over your body ― they speak volumes. No one would be...tortured...unless...you refused to surrender to  _their_  demands." Running a hand through dirty brown hair that touched her shoulders, she bit her lip dejectedly and peered downward, fingering her swollen legs and feet.

Softening, Emma slid forward and tentatively slipped a hand through the bars. "Well, thank you...for...your praise. I'm Emma...what's your name?"

When she sniffled and Emma offered her handkerchief, which had been stuffed for safekeeping under her corset, the girl smiled a little on accepting it and then blew her nose.

"Well, current setting and circumstances aside...it's nice to meet you, Emma. I'm Belle."

* * *

_Emma was stretched out on the ground at an awkward angle that contorted her poor body, half-standing and half-sitting because her hands had been heavily tied to a thick pole erected in the center of the squalid torture chamber. After the seventh strike, Witkins had stormed in and commanded the possessor of the whip to cease, requesting the present audience to leave the room._

_Tsking disconcertingly, as if in sympathy, he approached her cautiously. "Such a shame, you know...that beauty like yours should be wasted in this manner." He ran a hand slowly down her shoulder, pausing before he grabbed her chin and violently twisted it toward him._

" _His ship's gone, by the way ― we scoured the harbor for his precious_ Jolly Roger.  _But f_ _or you to live, I alone_ _have the authority to say this was all a mistake. Perchance you were kidnapped by Killian and his crew, forced to obey him..."_

_A trick question, indirect or not. If she contradicted his assumption, he would deduce she was working for Killian. If she agreed, it would not only be a falsehood but also an excuse for him to extract information from her because she'd be compelled to keep up the lie ― for what hostage would protect her abductor?_

_Clenching her jaw, she closed her eyes and thought of the rope burning her wrists and cutting into her palms, not the disgusting hand touching her face. He squeezed her jaw roughly in response to her silence. "Or I could say you're a bona fide traitor to the realm, in which case the royal court in England would personally want to witness your beheading."_

_His mouth was now by her ear, his other hand on her neck. "The choice is yours, Emma. All you have to do is tell me what I want to know about Jones, and you'll be spared."_

_When his thumb met her lips, she exploded. Biting down hard before he had a chance to react, she grappled relentlessly with his finger as a dog would toy with a bone. He was cursing loudly, digging his nails into the base of her skull in an effort to release his thumb. The moment it was free, he slapped her, the impact surely leaving a mark on her cheek._

" _You'll pay for that," he hissed, wringing his bleeding hand. "Forget a trial in front of a magistrate ― I'll execute judgment on you myself, you little slut."_

_Emma only grinned at him in return. "You're a spineless, pathetic coward, Witkins ― so afraid to fight a woman on even terms," she taunted insolently. "No doubt the size of your quarters must be compensation for what your manhood is lacking."_

_A booted foot hit her abdomen, making her bend in two to catch her breath. The next thing she heard was the commander's shouts for the soldiers to increase the number of stripes from fifteen to twenty-five, to show no mercy..._

* * *

"We have to go in tonight." Killian was changing his attire, black leather no longer hidden by the long fur cloak. Combing his hair and slicking it down, he then cleaned away the kohl from around his eyes with a soft cloth.

Doc shook his head. "The announcement of the execution could be a contrived lie designed to lure you out―"

"Are you prepared to wager Emma's life on that assumption?" he retorted. Leaning toward the mirror, the timbre of his voice intensified. "Because that is a risk I am  _not_ going to take."

Readjusting his sword-belt, Killian stood straight and gestured to the open door. "Doc, if you're worried, you don't have to do this," he offered. "You can stay."

The doctor rolled his eyes, donning a long overcoat. "I'm going, Killian, whether you like it or not. Besides, who else is going to save your ass?"

He chuckled, handing Doc a sword. Marching up to the main deck together, they were met by the fully assembled crew.

"Men," Killian began, "tonight calls for stealth. To leave Port Royal alive, we have to work together. As of right now, Leroy and Smee are in command ― to disobey them is to disobey me. When we return, we cast off."

Finding Leroy on the side, he whispered to him, "If Cutler and Smarty are one  _toe_  out of line, you have my permission to gut them both."

Grumpy gave him a toothy, mischievous smile. "Yessir!"

Pulling his own sword slowly from its scabbard, Killian watched the moonlight reflect off the polished silver.  _Emma darling, I'm coming for you._ He strutted down the boarding ramp with Doc close behind him, focused on only one goal.

"It's time."

* * *

"How did someone like you end up in a place like this?" Emma pondered, grimacing when Belle lifted the wet rag to scrutinize her back. The last of the sunlight was leaking through the high barred window before twilight unfolded, so they had decided to take advantage of its brightness.

"It's a long story," she sighed, "but the gist of it is that I left home to find adventure, and...well, my  _fiancé_  was more displeased with that than my own father was. He's been hunting me down ever since."

"You're being held here for safekeeping, then?"

Belle snorted. "Oh yes, they've been  _very_  hospitable. Some of the soldiers here tried to grope me when I was first apprehended ― but when I fought back, I was put in solitary confinement 'for my own safety'. I asked for some books to pass the time waiting, but, naturally, they refused, saying I needed to think on my 'misdeeds.' It was only when I started singing non-stop that my other gaoler had enough and threw me into this cell. 'Torment someone else,' he said."

She giggled despite herself, murmuring her thanks when Belle ripped off a substantial piece of her dress to cover the lashes. In spite of being fresh afflictions, they had at least stopped bleeding due to her new friend's ministrations. From what she had mentioned about her pursuits, she was well-educated and well-read, two attributes most women did not have these days.

Tilting her head backward to touch the wall, Emma puzzled over what to do next. Her "execution" was tomorrow morning ― but even though she had all the tools needed to escape, she could barely walk, let alone run out of a cell, incapacitate the guards, and figure out where the exit was. And where to go if the  _Jolly_  was gone...

Nevertheless, she had to try.

"Belle?" she whispered. "Do you know where we are exactly? In the fort, I mean? I was unconscious when they brought me in."

The girl gave her a knowing smirk, her eyes twinkling merrily. "You have a plan, don't you?"

Emma smiled back faintly. "No...but I do have a map."

* * *

They hesitated by the back entrance of the fort.

"Tell me again," Doc huffed breathlessly, "why we came alone to do this? How in heaven's name are we going to create a good distraction when there's only you and me?"

Killian gritted his teeth. "Who said we needed one?" Pointing that Doc should go the other side of the door, he stepped up to it and knocked three times. It opened to reveal one soldier.

"State your business," the man intoned.

"Gladly." Together, the Captain and Doc rapidly yanked him through before he could reply and slammed his head against the stone wall, throwing his motionless body onto the shadowed dirt.

"Let's go," Killian ordered, striding across the threshold. "We have a lot of ground to cover."

* * *

"Uh, hello? Hello?"

When the guard came, rubbing sleep from his eyes, Belle cleared her throat impatiently. "Took you long enough."

"What do you want?" he snapped.

"I've got to ― well, you know ―" she indicated her lower half. "Nature calls, and all that."

He leered at her. "You only had to ask, sweetheart."

Belle rolled her eyes, looking disgusted. "I need to urinate, you moron ― the urge is disturbing my sleep. Now are you going to take me where I need to go, or will I have to stain these fine accommodations with acidic stench?"

The man pretended to consider her request, glancing at a sleeping Emma in the adjoining cell. "Come on, then ― you'll have to be quick," he acquiesced, taking his keys and unlocking the door. He then unshackled Belle and drew her out by her chains.

Once their footsteps could no longer be heard, Emma sat up, wincing as she reached inside her right boot, the moonlight helping her to see. More than ever, time was of the essence.

Unpicking her shackles took less than a minute ― that was the easy part. When she unsteadily rose to her feet, Emma wobbled dangerously and had to lean against the bars for support. Taking her dagger and placing it outside the keyhole, she tried not to imagine what the consequences would be if she failed. Just as she swore it was taking too long, the lock clicked, the door softly creaking open.

Limping, she crouched by the corridor and listened hard, dagger in hand. Hmm, that idiot really was the only guard in this part of prison, like Belle had confirmed. After all, who would suspect two powerless, defenseless women to have any courage?

According to the map, the "disposal room" was right by the staircase. To leave, they would have to climb down, evade any other soldiers they met, and run through enemy-infested territory until they found the back entrance, which was smaller and more inconspicuous than the main entrance. Run...and how was she going to accomplish that, when she was sure some of her bones were fractured or possibly broken?

Stopping by the door, she knocked once. When the door opened a crack, she slid inside.

The ridiculous patterns of wide holes on large planks of wood surrounded them. Like they had agreed, Belle had knocked the guard out cold, dragged him up to one of the so-called "seats," and was tying her chains around his feet, her manacles now on  _his_  wrists. "He's out like a rock," she said proudly.

Emma stooped to finish her handiwork with an intricate knot Killian had shown her.  _Killian_... Her heart hurt. No one came back for her...and no one ever would. Wanting him wouldn't bring him here.

"That should do it," she panted, holding out her hands. Belle tried all the keys until she found the right one to undo Emma's manacles, a wordless sigh of relief leaving both their lips when the damn things came off.

Locking the door behind them as quietly as possible, they paced along the wall, edging closer and closer to the staircase. "And how will we know if anyone's waiting on the bottom?" Belle inquired nervously, clutching at Emma's shoulders when her boots scraped on the ground and then apologizing when she groaned in pain.

"We have to take a chance," she insisted, waving her dagger emphatically.

Nodding, Belle went down first. Not hearing any screams or voices, Emma tiredly followed.

This was their only chance. They could not fail.

* * *

Either Witkins was anticipating she would do something like this and he was setting a trap for Killian, or he was the most empty-headed commander on God's earth. The number of soldiers patrolling the fort were minimal, and so far, she and Belle had been unusually fortunate to not have encountered any. Were they so confident no one would attack? How ironic that the fort was supposedly the safest spot in all of Port Royal, when to her it was the most deadly.

If only she still had her sword.

Gliding into the moonlight, Emma breathed in the fresh air, a pleasant change from the rotten atmosphere inside the prison.  _Yes._

"Alright...if this map's true to the current layout of this hell-hole, we should proceed in..." Belle pointed to the left, "that direction."

The sound of male voices made Emma freeze in her tracks. "No," she whispered to herself. The voices were growing louder...so the persons they belonged to were coming closer. Towards  _them_.

Pushing Belle against the wall, they huddled in the shadows of an empty doorway, awaiting the passersby. When they came into sight, the two men were acting like they didn't want to be seen either.

_It couldn't be..._

But then again, no one looked like him. Emma felt her heart lodge itself in her throat, stealing away her breath. Her eyes hadn't lied. It  _was_  him.

Calling out his name, she walked into the light.

* * *

"This is true madness!" Doc growled out. "You want us to split up? When she could be anywhere?"

Killian's eyes narrowed. "Most likely, she'll be in either of the two gaols ― make up some excuse in the name of your profession and find her. You have a better chance ― and she will probably need your care." He peered up at the stone structure. Emma was within these walls...he could feel it. "If I remember correctly, both gaols are here."

"Great, I'm relying on a hunch to rescue a girl who may or may not be here," the doctor grumbled. When the Captain patted him the shoulder and turned to leave, Doc pulled him back.

"What are you after, Killian?" he demanded after he had shrugged out of his restraining hold.

"You know exactly whom."

Doc stared at him incredulously. "So you're going to get yourself killed because of revenge."

"No," Killian countered, glaring at the bodies of the two soldiers by his feet. "I'm going to end this ― the hiding, the fleeing ― the reason why my lass is imprisoned by that bloodthirsty bastard!"

The doctor frowned, drawing near. "You are aware of how revenge works ― the blood-letting never ends. Killian...please reconsider."

Before he could reply, a scuffling noise interrupted their discussion. Stances alert, they prepared their swords.

"Killian?" a female voice called out gently, full of disbelief and hope at the same time.

Everything he had planned to do was erased from his mind when he heard that one word. His heart re-started, throbbing fiercely, and he only saw one image.

 _Emma_.


	19. Chapter 19

He wanted to throw his arms around her, to just hold her close. He had found her ― she was alive, and she was saying his name. As if in a dream, his rage and thirst for retribution faded into the shadows, replaced by an overwhelming sense of peace and relief brought in by the light.  _Her_  light.

"Emma...my brave darling..." Killian cradled her in his arms, pulling away only to gaze at her face. It was bruised, and there were dark circles under her eyes. When she bit her lip as he stroked her back, strips of her dress falling over his fingers, he realized she was battered as well. What had that damn pit viper of a bastard done to her?

"You came back for me..." Her hand lifted to caress his cheek, and he  _felt_. Nothing else mattered ― not where they were, or how they were.  _My Emma..._  His eyes closed of their own accord, and he leaned in until their noses were touching.

"And I always will. I would never abandon you, love," he murmured softly in reply, running his hands through her hair. Now that he was near her again, the pain was gone. Even though they were in the middle of hell with the devil at their heels, it had no merit. He was whole with her.

"Killian," Doc admonished, ceasing the silence of their embrace, "we have to go―"

"You can say that again," came Belle's impatient agreement. She had cautiously joined Emma's side, her gaze shifting back and forth from Killian to Doc.

The doctor's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her closely. "And who are you?" he inquired.

Belle crossed her arms over her chest. "Funny how people keep asking that. If you must know, I'm a friend." When Doc pursed his lips suspiciously, she rolled her eyes. "The name's Belle ― but can we save the history lesson for later, curious stranger?"

Emma smiled while she listened to this exchange, her lips meeting Killian's for a brief moment before pulling away, the contact healing his heart. Enfolding his hand with her own, she whispered, "Yes ― let's go home." His answering grin was irrepressible, especially when he observed her placing her dagger back into the hem of her right boot.  _Smart lass._

* * *

They wove in and out, trying to be unseen as best they could. Belle went in front and Doc headed the back, but the pace soon tired Emma and she asked to rest. The wounds on her back had barely sealed temporarily, but the cut on her left palm wasn't so fortunate ― as of right now, it was bleeding profusely. Wincing at the memory, she could still recall the rope burning her skin as she dug her fingers into the pole, clinging to the wood as they―

"Give me your hand." She raised a brow, perplexed by the sudden request. "Your hand ― it's cut, let me help," Killian explained, one hand withdrawing under his coat while the other reached for her.

Emma drew back, not wanting to delay their journey. Doc and Belle were invested in their own conversation, their words jostled too rapidly for Emma to catch what they were talking about. If Killian only knew what had happened... "No, it's fine," she excused, but he grabbed her wrist gently, pulling her toward him.

"No, it's not," he countered, glancing intensely at her before uncorking an all-too familiar flask of rum with his teeth. Emma groaned in frustration.

"So  _now_  you're going to be a gentleman?" she retorted incredulously. This was only going to slow them down ― they needed to keep moving!

He smirked. "I'm  _always_  a gentleman." She bit back a cry when he poured the liquid over the jagged skin, her poor back bumping reflexively against the wall of the livery that was hiding them from sight. It all hurt like hell.

"Relax, lass ― it's only rum," he said softly when her muscles tensed from the pain, humming under his breath while he continued his ministrations.

Still, despite her worries that someone would spot them, she didn't want this moment to end. Killian was so focused on binding her hand properly, the look of concentration on his face truly adorable when he yanked off the black and red scarf hanging around his neck and began to carefully wrap it over her injury.

What she wasn't prepared for was when he tied the knot with his teeth, his left hand holding her wrist steady while his right aided his mouth's task. She could almost brush her fingers against his jawline as he peered up at her, smoldering blue consuming the air in her lungs. In one purposeful instant, the entire gesture had become deeply intimate, making blood rush through her veins from emotions other than fear.

"There," he finished proudly. She smiled shyly at him in gratitude, a blush warming her face when he winked shamelessly at her. However, she was more taken by how he longingly kissed the knuckles of her bandaged hand afterwards, the feel of his lips lingering.

"Ah, such a touching reunion ― one that I  _almost_  feel sorry to interrupt." Each word uttered was sneering, patronizing, and sarcastic. The instinct to run seized every nerve of Emma's body, propelling her to seek refuge. In turn, Killian immediately stiffened, clasping her in his arms protectively.

There was no mistaking that voice.

They had been caught.

* * *

_She was worth the risk. She was worth his life._

_And she would be his._

_One year, and the_ Jolly Roger _had already won his fealty. She was truly a marvel of a ship, but he had never expected that she would win his heart as well. He could never be as besotted with any woman as he was with her, no matter how many wenches he came across in taverns and city streets. There was no comparison._

 _Her timbers were polished, her visage gleaming. Rumor had it that she had once been a Spanish king's private vessel, her reputation ruined once she had been ravished by pillaging pirates. Whether she had been corrupted by this twist of fate would always be uncertain, but Killian didn't care. He loved the_ Jolly _as she was now ― he accepted her past like she had tolerated his own, and together, they were family._

_Mutiny was difficult to plan, mainly because the instigator was not the only chess piece being moved. Every person involved was a dangerous gamble, his loyalty as fickle as the wind. But he was confident he would succeed. Even if that roach of a man would try to oppose him._

_Beckett was the disgusting gutter rat ― and former first mate ― who had killed the original captain of the_ Jolly _in his sleep by sneaking into his cabin at night and cutting his throat. He currently claimed to command Killian's beloved, but that farce would be ending soon. Very soon._

_Killian ran the blade one last time against the stone, testing the acute edge with the tip of his finger._

_All he needed now was courage._

* * *

"Witkins," Killian hissed, sounding furious. When no one appeared, his anger burst, his tone murderous. "Come out and face me, you bloody coward!"

"As hostile as always, aren't you, Killian Jones?" The commander chuckled darkly, his invisibility more frightening to Emma than when she had confronted him in person. He had caught them, and the consequences would be dire... "You've always thought yourself clever, but this time, I was waiting for you."

With all the flair of the dramatic, the man in question slowly entered the moonlight from wherever he had been hidden, armed soldiers following in his wake. Muskets were aimed at them straight and true, not quivering an inch as their bearers tracked every movement. Emma peeked at Belle, who had huddled by Doc, and then at Killian, who was trying to get to his sword without being noticed.

They didn't stand a chance ― not against guns.

"Don't be foolish,  _Captain._ " Witkins snickered. "You're outmanned and outgunned. Drop your weapons ― all of you," he ordered.

"And if we refuse?" Killian challenged.

"Then your whore will be the first to die right in front of you," he responded, smiling when two soldiers sneaked up on Emma from behind and tore her from Killian's arms, a scream escaping from her throat. She kicked and struggled as much as her remaining strength would allow, but Doc and Belle were quickly separated, each kept in custody by their captor.

Killian was apprehended next, and when he fought back, his sword was also ripped from its scabbard like Doc's had been. When he kept resisting, another soldier punched him repeatedly in the stomach, winding him until he was on his knees, the ends of his long leather coat trailing in the dirt.

Witkins tsked in mock disappointment. "You see, Jones...from the moment you made the exceptionally stupid mistake of anchoring in this harbor, I've been watching. But when you agreed to meet that oaf in the Rabbit Hole, I was downright flustered. This wasn't the man Mr. James had described to me ―  _you_  don't deserve to share the same blood with him. Oh no, this  _pirate_  was a careless, lovesick  _ninny ―_ an addlepated guttersnipe. Even Emma here has more sense ― she escaped her cell without your help." His voice was patronizing and deadly, a spider luring a fly into its fatal web.

"Here I had anticipated a challenging lion, but all I received was a filthy ass. My intelligence is superior to yours because I was absolutely certain you'd return for her ― your behavior in the tavern testified as much. You made a grave error: you underestimated  _me_. And it's time to pay the toll."

Hatred sank and spread, icy and biting. Emma shivered ― Witkins was trying to provoke Killian, and God forbid, it was  _working_. His eyes were darkening every passing minute, breathing hard while he recovered from his beating.

The commander smiled like Death itself, cruelly bestowing an unending, inevitable sentence as he approached his victim. "Do you know how that bitch of yours screamed," he taunted, motioning toward Emma, "when I told the guards to beat her senseless because she wouldn't yield to me? That smooth, creamy skin...those legs... You'll never want her again. Not after I have her."

Killian cursed loudly, grappling with his oppressors in an attempt to swipe at Witkin's smug face. He was livid, his lips tightened into a fierce snarl. Emma tried to deny what the commander had implied, but one of her captors had gagged her, effectively silencing her right to speak.

" _You damn son of a bitch_ ," he spat out, his lower lip bleeding from the impact of Witkin's fist, a sword pointed at his neck. "You  _dared_  to lay a hand on my―"

"Come, come, Jones ― you know our history so well, I'm shocked you think so little of me. Naturally, I did more than 'dare.' But enough of this nonsense." He waved away Killian's insults, striding by him like an excited predator.

"Fortunately for you, your father wants you alive and in one piece, not dead ― or you already would be. This is how it's going to work: you'll submit to my authority of your own free will and your  _friends_  will be spared ― but if you continue to defy me, you'll see me personally kill your 'mate' and his lady there. Or maybe you'd prefer to witness me taking your girl right here...again...and again...and again..." he threatened, licking his lips meaningfully while he leered lustfully at Emma.

Killian's face turned white, his features hardening. He stared at her, all the words he couldn't say there. His eyes were apologetic ― pleading ― understanding ―  _yearning_. His head bowed under the strain of the conflict stirring inside. Emma wanted to tell him that tomorrow she had been sentenced to die, that this was a trap, but she was voiceless. Eventually, Killian asked hoarsely, "And my ship?"

"Property of the Crown," Witkins answered immediately, shrugging. "Though if your crew isn't obedient when they're incarcerated, I could just burn it with them onboard ― that would save me a lot of wasted time and effort while killing two birds with one stone."

Tears stung the corners of Emma's eyes, her vision blurring for a second. He couldn't surrender to Witkins ― that monster would never keep his word. She wouldn't let him give up his life for her ― not when they belonged together. Not when he was so needed.  _She_  needed him.

After all, this was  _her_  fault ― she should have fought  _harder_.  _Better_. She should have dragged him away from that table and told him that reptile Claude was up to something. But she  _hadn't_. Her capture was the fuel that despicable bastard needed to draw Killian into the flames, and now he was going to relinquish everything he cared about because of her... In heaven's name, they were bloody  _pirates_. This couldn't be the end of their story.

When Killian finally nodded, moving to rise while he submissively held out his hands to be tied, she almost allowed her tears to fall. Almost. Then fire was ignited in her abdomen, rising and rising until it nearly flooded her head. She glanced at Belle, who had noticed her clenched jaw and indicated with a slight tilt of her head that most of the soldiers were leaving them to escort Killian, Witkins clamoring pointedly for manacles. Pinpoints in the distance, their backs were turned and their muskets were harmlessly pointed at the dirt. They were leaving them  _alone_.

* * *

Their captors had been reduced to three men, all appearing to be bored and idle from inactivity. One of them muttered to another's disgruntled query, "The commander told us to wait  _here_  until he returned."

Emma prayed that her expression spoke what she could not, her limbs trembling as she took her stance.

_They were not going to die._

Closing her eyes, she went limp in her captor's grip, falling to the earth without resistance.

Emma had only seen Diane faint a couple times, but she hoped she remembered the picture well enough to mimic it. God only knew she could recall how it had felt.

When she landed on the ground, she made certain it was on her right side, her arm trapped underneath her curled legs. Amid the commotion that ensued, she heard Belle creating a distraction by loudly protesting their treatment, asking for a physician (that had surely elicited a half-smile from Doc), demanding civil rights under the king's name. Meanwhile, her fingers searched that secret place, taking what she needed.

"You're a doctor, ain't ya?" her sole jailer prompted. " _You_  have a look at her."

When Doc towered over her, examining her torso and slowly rolling her over onto her back, he discreetly took her hands in his to check her pulse.  _Perfect._ She slipped it into his hands without opening her eyes, pursing her lips meaningfully. He cleared his throat. "She's dead," he stated, gesturing that the soldier should have a look. Like she had expected, her suspicious captor leaned down to confirm Doc's conclusion, the other two hesitating for a moment before coming forward with Belle in tow in order to observe.

It had to be quick and merciless ― there was no other way. She could not have any scruples to kill, not when Killian's life was at stake ― when  _all_  their lives were at stake.

When the soldier who had manhandled her first dropped to one knee to lift up her face, Doc reacted. Murmuring a hurried oath, he thrust Emma's dagger deeply into his neck from behind and then forcefully pulled it out, taking the man's sword as he fell. Meanwhile, Emma had sat up, jumped to her feet, and whipped off the musket slung on his back, catching the now clean dagger Doc tossed back to her. The other soldiers were too close to shoot at them point blank, so they started to unsheathe their swords. Happily, they didn't have pistols, a conjecture that she had been counting on.

Belle didn't pause for an instant in ripping her arm from her jailer's grip and flooring him with her right fist when he tried to re-capture her, disarming him as well and kicking at his face with her foot to ensure he was unconscious. Doc wasn't so fortunate, the other soldier preparing to grapple with him when the doctor aimed a blow at his throat. They didn't have time for a swordfight, so Emma sidestepped the dead soldier crumpled on the ground and threw the butt of her musket at the live one's skull, efficiently smashing it with a morbid crunch.

She was exhausted through and through, her body was screaming for respite, her back wounds had probably re-opened ― but she wasn't done. This wouldn't be over until Killian was free.

Doc had collected all the remaining muskets, hesitating on seeing Belle armed with her captor's sword. "Can you shoot as well?" he warmly half-smiled, tentatively offering her a gun.

For the first time since they had met, Belle grinned widely at him. "Nothing to it but pulling the trigger, right?" she replied, shouldering the musket. When he snapped the barrel of his own open to make sure it was loaded, she gulped anxiously. "But if it's all the same to you, I'll...stick to the sword."

Emma peered at Doc and Belle to check if they were ready, but her conscience was troubled. Belle wasn't a part of this fight...she shouldn't heedlessly risk her neck for three strangers, one she had just met. While the doctor checked if the area was clear of any more assailants, she went to Belle's side. "You don't have to do this," Emma whispered to her. "You can walk out that door and leave this mess behind."

Belle snorted. "I'm not deserting my friends―"

"We could die tonight ― is this worth your life? Besides, you barely―"

"―know you? Emma..." she shook her head, "I know enough. You underwent  _torture_  to save that man. 'There is no greater love than this, that a man give up his life for a friend.' What is there left to doubt?"

 _Love._  Until this place, this space and time, she had never even thought of that word in relation to Killian. Or maybe she unconsciously had, denying her hopes because of her anxieties. But now, after her new friend's suggestion, the idea began to take hold of her mind, making her heart clench at the prospect. She still didn't know him that well. She couldn't  _love_  him. Not yet.

But why then did that very notion strike a chord in her, resonating like a note of music throughout her entire being?

Doc's footsteps brought her back to reality, Belle straightening her posture while Doc motioned that Emma should lead.

When they flanked her, she began to strut forward, sword and musket in hand. There would be time to think of love later. Now there was only room for blood. Blood and war.

* * *

Their scuffle had not been that rowdy, so it had not attracted the attention of everyone in the courtyard. Indeed, it appeared that the "commander" had arranged everything in order that Killian's imprisonment would remain a secret, the details privy only to a few of the militia. After all, live men talk ― only dead men tell no tales.

Pivoting the musket upright until it was properly positioned, she took aim, searching for the figure whose buckled shoes were reflecting light. That would be Witkins, pacing by the entrance of the guardhouse. He didn't seem eager to enter the prison, which must mean that he had other plans. Like shipping the Captain off to England, where his father must still be.

Killian was being restrained by several soldiers, sitting on a bench with his hands clasped together as if in prayer, his head resting upon them. He didn't look like the fierce pirate captain she knew ― no, he looked utterly defeated, an image of such despair and loneliness that it stabbed at Emma's compassion, releasing a barely stifled cry of misery. He wanted to save them so badly that he had forgotten to care about his own well-being.

"I'm going in." Her voice cracked, feelings unspent pouring through. Her companions were silent, the doctor gesturing that Belle should prepare her musket too. Together from behind their cover, they stood fast, muzzles directed at the appropriate targets.

_Keep both eyes open. Let them and your hands guide you._

Gunfire erupted simultaneously, a crack of lightning as every bullet hit its mark. The soldiers by Killian dropped like stalks of wheat, but Witkins ran to hide behind one of the guardroom's stone columns. When the next set of rounds erupted, he took permanent residence there.

 _Damn it_ , Emma growled to herself, but she satisfactorily noted that Killian's surprise transformed instantly into realization. He knelt swiftly to find his sword among the deceased men, stopping for a moment to pick up something else she couldn't see. Then he turned, eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

Worried that he might be tempted to seek out Witkins, Emma surrendered to her impulse. Slinging the musket, she limped until she was in front of Killian. Doc and Belle were not far behind.

"Forget him ― let's leave," she pleaded, registering the various emotions streaking across his expression, some parts lit and others shrouded by shadow. The internal debate between vengeance and survival was plummeting, and when he threw her the object he had taken, a hefty pistol, she nearly collapsed from fatigue and desperation. He couldn't―

Before she could question his decision, new soldiers entered the courtyard, heading right for them.

"No time for argument, lass," Killian yelled, posing with his sword, "we've got company!"

* * *

Soon enough, Witkins had recovered sufficiently to enter the fray, which was a flurry of parries, lunges, and bold strikes. There were no rules except one: kill or be killed.

Somehow, Emma found herself back to back with Killian, their battles synchronized. Her dagger and the pistol were within reach if she had need of them, both tucked through a tear in the encompassing fabric of her dress, but she preferred to rely on her experience in swordplay instead. Every clang of their swords was rhythmic, as if this were a dance instead of combat, and each fallen opponent meant a natural change of footwork, of position. Killian knocked out one soldier who was trying to run Emma through the stomach, and she stopped another from sneaking up on him from behind. After attacking singly, Doc and Belle were imitating their form, seeing that having your back protected was a better advantage than venturing forth blindly.

When Killian and Emma were faced with two men, their blows rang out in unison until they had disarmed both together. Extending his hand, he grinned as Emma accepted it and rose up from where she had misstepped, her foot beginning to hurt. "I don't mean to alarm you, Emma," he commented breathlessly, "but I think we make quite the team."

She smirked, twirling her sword absently. "That we do." Her back felt like it was burning, a thousand needles invading her flesh, but she cared less. He was right. They were one heck of a team, and they were going to live through this. Together.

Seeing as no other soldiers were approaching, they took a moment to rest and scrutinize their friends' tribulations. Belle had crashed the hilt of her sword on the top of her opponent's head, then taking the initiative to pierce his lungs with his own blade. Doc ― and now that she thought of it, Witkins in addition ― was nowhere to be seen. She had been too occupied with not being murdered that her mind had blocked out all else, seeing nothing but the need to defend.

"Belle," Emma called out, "where's Doc?" The girl gave her a puzzled glance. "The doctor?"

As if in answer, a reverberating boom echoed, and the entire fort was suddenly light and dark, shaking from a heavy explosion as well as the soldiers' subsequent screams and yells. Hungry fire spouted from one of the far-off buildings, its tongues licking at the wood greedily as the wind helped it travel to nearby structures surrounding it. Belle grinned cheekily, admiring the sight. "That would be  _Doc_ ," she clarified, observing his haggard gait as he ran towards them from the direction of the armory, "making use of the excessive gunpowder."

Emma laughed, sheathing her sword and flinging her arms around Killian. Although he was dirty and worn and bloodied, he still was magnificent, so beautiful and strong. And from the wonder in his gaze, she knew he believed the same about her. They didn't need words. They just  _knew_. "Did I tell you we make a good team, love?" he repeated softly as he smiled down at her, his free hand cupping her cheek.

When her mouth longingly found his by way of reply, he held nothing back, reciprocating each touch. And she released all her soul into the kiss, ignoring what Belle had hinted at before because their connection was liberating ― his hands on her waist, their bodies flushed together in the heat of the moment... It didn't matter if he'd been with hundreds of other women. Right now, he was with her.

"Can you, uh, save that for later?" Doc huffed, wheezing slightly upon approach. "For example, when there's no possibility of us dying afterwards?" Belle seemed to be biting back another smirk, clearly amused by his annoyed expression.

Killian pressed his lips to Emma's cheek, his countenance bright as the sun as he stepped back. He proffered his hand to her, a familiar, comforting gesture she loved. "Now we are free to go."

The sound of a knowing, metallic click interrupted, crippling their hopes.

* * *

"Did you miss me, Emma?"

From what was visible to her, Witkins's clothes were torn and sullied, his face was stained with blood, and his shoes were in pieces. There was blood trickling down from his abdomen onto his trousers. "You destroyed my fort, killed my men, and are costing me my due pay," he snarled. Then he raised his voice, aiming the musket's muzzle right at her heart. "Surrender, Jones, or your whore dies."

"You'll kill her anyway. Honor has no meaning for you, Witkins," Doc interrupted before Killian could respond.

"You're right." The crazed glint in his eyes was increasing, his grimace widening into a manic grin. Lowering the musket a little, his head jerked oddly, and then his grip tightened. "I will," he rasped, his tone full of dark promise when he pulled the trigger.

All Emma could hear was her own screams as Killian threw himself in front of her.

The rumble beneath Emma's feet should have been a clear sign to her of what was to come, but she was too preoccupied to notice. The moment Witkins fired, he was pushed backwards by an invisible force, which caused the bullet to enter the sky instead of Killian's body. The ground underneath the commander's feet was visibly torn apart, cracks splitting the surface, and then his legs were caught inside the ruptures, the musket out of reach while his upper body writhed in protest.

"My God," Doc murmured, a hand landing on Belle's arm to stabilize himself when the earth began shaking under them as well. When her eyebrows rose questioningly, he apologized and let go. His voice had never been so imperious ― or so frightened.

"Captain ― we have to leave. Now. Or we're going to be swallowed alive."

* * *

The rumbling intensified, and Emma watched, stricken, as the semi-lit buildings and homes in the streets of solid Port Royal teetered and trembled like toy blocks, their occupants confused and wailing plaintively. Their very foundations were  _sliding_ , like someone was tugging them back and forth, and the nighttime destruction happening throughout the city was horrendous, death and danger slyly obscured by engulfing black and red.

Desperately trying to keep up with the others' frantic pace, her leg had twisted grotesquely against a wayward stone and she had been thrown to the ground. Not heeding her vehement outcries of dismay, Killian had simply lifted her into his arms without a word and carried her, his embrace gentle and sure though he was likely weary thanks to all their shared trials.

On second thought, that had surely been her pride talking ― every part of her frame was in complete agreement with the Captain's generous act. Fending off trained soldiers while being severely injured had annihilated what was left of her energy, and another step would have left her as helpless as Witkins.

While her vantage point was exceptional, her head peeking over Killian's shoulder as the landscape flew by, at times she was afraid to look, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. She must have fallen asleep several times, because one second they were carefully fleeing the streets and the next they were deeply in the island's wild forest, tropical trees groaning from being misplaced and animals screeching their terror to the skies.

Doc and Belle were, oddly, holding hands, the doctor helping her when she stumbled on rapidly mutating surface. Killian, on the other hand, was breathing heavily, his brow covered in sweat, and his shoulders were sagging from bearing her weight. His features looked strained, as if he would collapse any moment from sheer fatigue.

And she could only hold onto him and not let go. Or she could be sprawled on the dirt and left to die. There was no alternative.

In the midst of the island's inhuman roars, closer sounds still managed to reach her ears. "I can see the ship ― it's just up ahead!" Doc exclaimed.

"It's about bloody time ― we've been circling this damn place for long enough," Killian muttered between gritted teeth, but he smiled when Emma met his gaze, stroking the back of his head reassuringly with her fingers. He was the most complicated man she had ever known, but he was also the best.

"Thank you ― for saving us. For saving  _me_..." she whispered, leaning her head back on his shoulder. His lips brushed over her hair, and his tone was so low and deep that she barely caught what he said next.

_Anything for you, Emma._

* * *

Leroy and Cutler were embroiled in a fervent discussion. It had been hours since the Captain and the doctor had departed for Port Royal, and when everything around them, including the waves, had vibrated like the Lord Himself were shaking one of those heathen "maracas," the whole crew had known what was up: it was high past time to get the hell out of here before the 'quake really erupted and big waves hit the shoreline.

But Leroy and Smee didn't agree with that sentiment.

"For the last time, we ain't leavin' the Cap'tn or Doc or Swan behind!" Leroy shouted furiously, shoving Cutler roughly to the side when he tried to touch the helm.

He sneered back, "Oh, look who's the Captain's loyal dog." Raising his sword threateningly toward Smee, he added, "You daft toads, your stupidity is going to get us all killed!"

When he again moved toward Leroy, Smarty snapped, throwing a quick punch to his jaw.

"What the bleeding heck was that for?" Cutler roared, glaring at his former friend.

Smarty smirked, demonstrating his own sword in turn. "A taste of your own medicine if you pull that off one more time."

"So now you're on their side, ya bilge rat!"

"I've never been on your side, pompous ass ― you've always treated me like dirt, so why should I stick by? I remember what you did to Swan―"

"You're defending that tramp―?"

"Watch your mouth!" Smee cautioned.

Rolling his eyes, Leroy tuned out their bitter dissent, worried about the rest of the crew. All it took was one man foolish enough to lead the others into a mutinous fracas and then they'd―

"GRUMPY!"

Motioning to the men to be quiet, Leroy followed the continuous sound until he reached the prow. Looking over the railing, the sight that caught his searching eyes made him grin triumphantly.

"Boys!" he called out. "Shut your mouths and lower the boarding ramp ― Captain Jones is back in business!"

* * *

Doc and Belle were first up the ramp, though it was hard to board when their balance was askew and there was a high chance of being pitched into the sea. That made it all the more difficult for Emma and Killian, as the earthquake had apparently reached its peak.

The path they had just tread was an open fissure, trees swaying dangerously before thumping on the ground in a deafening crash. Worst of all, when they were safely on the  _Jolly Roger_  and the boarding ramp had disappeared immediately, the ocean was rebellious and tremulous, imitating the land's activity.

Something massive was about to occur.

"Smee, take her to sea!" Killian ordered. The waves grew in height after another shudder rippled through the water, and the impact it had on the ship caused him to slip on the wet deck, Emma falling with him. She cried out from pain, feeling her back's lashes tear apart more and her bruises double.

Killian was crawling to her side, an apologetic look on his exhausted countenance as his hand extended toward hers. Her eyelids fluttered closed, the black spots in her vision increasing. She was going to faint. It was coming, the darkness.

"We have to get her to my quarters! Quickly!" Doc scooped her into his arms, Belle pressing behind him in case he faltered. A yell from the crow's nest stopped them in their tracks.

With the strong wind brewing, the ship was speeding away from what seemed to be an implosion, the island crumbling under itself. The waves they left behind were now higher than the roof of any house, an open mouth ready to devour the offering before it.

The last image Emma remembered before unconsciousness freed her from physical misery was the sight of palm trees plummeting into the shore as a thick blue wall of water separated the escaping  _Jolly_  from Port Royal's doom, a curtain falling on a tragedy's final scene.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I did some research on Port Royal (after I had chosen it as Emma and Killian's destination), and I discovered that the city was destroyed in 1692 by a massive earthquake that rocked Jamaica. For the sake of this story and the fact that it is AU, the timing of that earthquake was changed in the spirit of creative license.
> 
> Historically speaking, Port Royal (Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl, anyone?), the former "Sodom of the New World," was actually reformed and VERY anti-piracy years before its demise in 1692.


	20. Chapter 20

_Beckett was cowering against the mast, a whimper escaping his pale throat when the tip of a sword was pressed against it. After hours of battling his rival and his followers, he had slunk into defeat when all the crewmen who had supported him had vanished. He couldn't be a captain with a disloyal crew, so with the mutiny successful, there was nothing left to fight for._

" _As I see it, mate, you have two choices," Killian drawled, a devilish smile on his lips. "You can live by working for me like the rest ― or you can simply die now. What's it going to be?"_

_His eyes rolled slightly, turning toward the group of men gathered behind the new Captain and seeking a sympathetic face. He didn't find even one._

" _Well?" Killian impatiently demanded._

_Beckett shook his head vigorously in a false gesture of innocent pleading. "I don't want to die ― but I don't want to work for you either, Jones. You're an arrogant git with a taste for death if I ever saw one―"_

_In a flash, the sword drew blood, a superficial cut bleeding vigorously. "It's_ Captain _Jones to you, roach," he sneered, "and I can plainly tell you've retained the use of that vile tongue of yours. However, your insolence has a price."_

_Rough hands slit the ropes binding Beckett, and they dragged him forward with his arms bound behind his back until he was almost kneeling in front of Killian. The Captain leaned closer, grabbing him by the neck._

" _Wake up, you bloody idiot!" he hissed, observing how Beckett's cheeks turned a strange hue of crimson purple. "Everyone who partook in your scheme to be king of the_ Jolly _is at the bottom of the sea. You have no friends left and your chances of survival are slim to none, so do yourself a favor and accept my mercy. Don't force me to kill you."_

_The man wheezed heavily, at which point Killian released his grip and threw him to the floor, coughing and choking. "Take him to the brig and keep him there until he makes up his mind," he coldly instructed._

_When the Captain strode away in the direction of the helm, not looking back, a cry of rage erupted behind him and soon he felt two hands reach for his sword. What started as a feeble attempt to stab him transformed into savage struggling and wrestling, blows and punches flying right and left. At last, Becket was pinned beneath him, a dagger at his throat, his gaze filled with hatred and disgusted fury._

_Killian smirked darkly, any thought of compassion gone. "I guess I have your answer, Beckett ― prepare to join our former Captain in hell, where you sent him with this very knife," he spat at him._

_In the same instant the blade sliced quickly across his visible jugular, a line of dark red blood appeared and signaled Beckett's death. Mouth open widely in surprise, he stared listlessly at the sky, his resistance ended. Without reproof from anyone, Killian didn't hesitate to pick up the body and throw it overboard, waiting for it to hit the waves and sink downward._

" _Gentlemen," he announced loudly, standing by the helm, "today, we have won back the_ Jolly Roger _. Now, I may be the youngest Captain in the history of sailing, but I promise you that if you side with me, we will be the most feared pirates in the Spanish Main. Run this ship for me, and I will help you plunder and pillage to your heart's content ― you will never lack for treasure, rum, or women! With the ship under my command, the world is ours!"_

_Hoarse cheers and raucous applause resonated, the crude talk and whispers of the crew turning into animated chatter as they set off to their accustomed duties. Captain Jones placed his hands on the wheel spokes, a self-satisfied look entering his expression while he manned the helm after longing to for the past two years. He would need to find himself a new first mate and helmsman, of course, but all in good time..._

_Boyhood memories flooded back to Killian, overwhelming him. Professor Lawrence had been right. He was meant to do this._

_Peering at the horizon, his eyes narrowed and his smirk grew broader when the ship reacted to every move and turn his fingers dictated. "Indeed, my beauty...indeed," he murmured soothingly. "Together, we will be unstoppable."_

* * *

When her body notified her that it was high time to awaken, Emma refused ― blankly, blatantly refused. Every muscle, every joint, every  _bone_  ached. This was, without a doubt, one of the worst mishaps she had ever endured. No previous sickness or physical catastrophe had ever caused her this much pain.

Finally, she was brave enough to open her eyes and survey just why she felt so miserable. However, the sight that greeted her was more than welcome.

Dressed in a pretty blue and white gown, Belle was sitting by her bedside, reading a book, while Doc prepared tea, biscuits off to the side on a delicate-looking saucer. For a moment, her heart asked for Killian, who was strangely absent, but then her guilt pushed that wish away. If it wasn't for her mistakes, she wouldn't be in this position now, and he wouldn't have been subjected to that horrific confrontation in the city that was no more.

While gloominess tried to drag her down into despair again, Emma peered about the room, so tidy and colorful like the Captain's quarters. Unlike Killian's penchant for darker, bolder hues, Doc had decorated his chambers with cool colors, various blues and greens matched by overlays of white and brown. While Killian's cabin had a seductive, alluringly attractive quality to it, Doc's was simple, effective, relaxing ― perfect for calming his patients and alleviating their fears of death.

When she attempted to rise from the bed, only to collapse back down on the comforter with a heavy groan, Emma muttered, "This is an all too familiar situation."

"Emma!" Belle smiled, putting a bookmark between the pages of her book before closing it. Setting it on Doc's desk, she rushed to help Emma sit upright, careful not to touch her back when she propped the pillows behind her and re-arranged her covers.

"We've been hoping you'd wake up this morning ― you've been unconscious for several days now," she revealed, standing briefly to accept the tray Doc handed her and softly laying it on Emma's lap. Golden hot-cross buns, butter, jam, a cup of rosy tea and another of water awaited her hungry stomach, which was growling at her pleadingly. By the look of this feast, the rat problem in the hold must have been resolved.

"Soupy really outdid himself," Emma commented happily to herself, slipping her hands out from underneath the sheets. While doing so, she noticed bandages on her palms, Killian's scarf gone. With a pang, she realized she missed it.

"Well," Doc replied, having overheard her remark, "the whole crew's been worried about you."

On seeing Emma's confounded expression, he assured her, "Yes, really. Smee, Leroy, and Smarty have each stopped by at least twice a day, inquiring after your health. Dear God, if we were docked by a tropical island rife with flowers, this room would be overwhelmed with sweet-smelling bouquets by now." He chuckled, taking a tentative sip of his own tea, while Belle was spreading butter across a split roll, her tea still untouched.

_Everyone but Killian..._

"So," Emma continued after finishing her platter of vittles, "what else has happened since I passed out? Were we left unscathed...by the earthquake?"

Doc nodded slowly, chewing on a bit of bun. "Just in the nick of time, too. I hate to imagine the amount of destruction those killer waves caused ― if they spared anything at all of Port Royal."

Belle was stirring her cup of tea in a counterclockwise motion, her eyes fixated on her spoon's circular travel. "All those people, trapped in their homes and unaware of the havoc headed their way... We were indeed fortunate to have escaped. God's grace, I suspect."

A kind, genuine smile crossed the doctor's face. "Or His merciful blessing."

It was easy to see that during their makeshift partnership in the fort, Doc and Belle had formed some kind of bond. It appeared to be friendship, but Emma secretly hoped it could be more ― for both of them. After all his sorrows, Doc deserved to find happiness again, and Belle...from the moment they had met, loneliness seemed to be one of the burdens this girl carried, though uncomplainingly. They were one of a kind.

Breakfast proceeded in companionable conversation until the last of the tea was gone. Ultimately, Belle piled all of their dishes on the tray and balanced it on her arm, waving away Doc's offer to take it to Soupy himself. When she had closed the door behind her, Doc glided over to her empty chair and sat down.

Before he could open his mouth, Emma blurted out, "How's Killian?" Naturally, when face to face with her caregiver, she would only think of  _him_ , not herself.

Doc grinned wryly. "As always, our dear Captain is manning the helm, set on a course for Trinidad before he decides which uninhabited island to visit."

She scrutinized him closely, pursing her lips. "That answers  _where_  he is, not  _how_  he is."

"Physically, he's fine," he finally conceded with a sigh. "True, he has a few cuts and bruises here and there, but no lasting wounds. You have no need to worry, Emma."

If her relief had been visible, it was now obscured by her rising blush. Still...there was this niggling, nagging feeling that Doc wasn't telling her something. "And...what about me?"

His brow furrowed immediately, as if preparing for bad news. "The extent of your injuries are, frankly, far-reaching. In addition to what you suffered in Port Royal, you twisted your ankle during our run back to the ship." When Emma tried to interrupt, he held up a hand. "I know ― that is relatively minor. However...it's your back I'm worried about."

She bit her lip nervously. "Is it that bad?"

"Honestly? Yes. Those twenty-five lashes...they are going to take time to heal. I did my best to prevent any infection and I cleaned them thoroughly with Belle's help ― she did the undressing and such, just so you are aware ― but meanwhile, there's not much I can do; I gave you as much pain medicine as I dared. Of all the body areas, the skin on a human's back takes the longest to heal ― an unfortunate fact. Right now...you're looking at four weeks of bedrest, at least―"

"Four weeks?!"

"In order for the wounds to begin to close. Emma...when I saw what Witkins did to you...I had to even apply stitches because I was afraid the skin in some parts would never re-seal on its own. And another reason you have to stay in bed is that your body needs to recover and recreate the blood you've lost so far!" he exclaimed, cutting off Emma's protests and interruptions in an effort to convince her.

In the end, her exhaustion made her will flatten, her energy spent. Doc was right; she had nothing to gain by fighting his recommendation, which had only been prompted by his concern for her health. "I will stay here?" she asked meekly, her head bowed as she peered up at him.

Doc gazed at her sympathetically. "I wanted to talk with you about that, actually ― considering that his bed is the most adequate on the entire ship, I would like you to stay in the Captain's quarters. It's far more comfortable than my cramped cabin here, and the bed there is amply wide ― as you will recall," he added with a wink.

"For four weeks?" she groaned, hiding her face in her hands. "That's almost a month. What's wrong with my own room?"

He laughed lightly, his teeth glinting. "You have a hammock for a bed, Emma ― forgive me, but I doubt you'd mend well while entangled in that. I only brought you here in the first place because time was essential to stop the bleeding and Killian's rum wouldn't suffice for medical supplies." His smile disappeared on seeing her wince when she shifted her sitting position in an attempt to get out of the bed and onto her feet.

"Wait..." A hand raised in warning, he stood up and marched to the door. "Let me get Belle here so I can go and speak with Killian, alright? I will not be long."

The girl herself breezed through the entrance the moment he opened it. "Did I miss anything?" she teased gently, her expression growing serious after one glance at Doc's expression.

"Belle," Emma pleaded once they were alone, "what's really going on? Why―why isn't Killian here? Why hasn't he visited me?" Her tone sounded contemptible to her own ears, whining and desperate. She wanted to stop talking, but the words were escaping her mouth.

Belle smoothed out her trepidation and tried to look reassuring, her long brown hair fanning her face and neck like a crown. "Don't worry ― he's on his way now. And you're alive ― you're healing already."

Emma brushed her tears onto the soft cloth beneath, fighting back the sudden urge to laugh when she caught sight of the blue nightgown Belle had changed her into. In all honesty, she was being utterly ridiculous ― if she didn't know better, near the point of being  _lovesick_ , as that ass Witkins had so charmingly phrased it. Diane had always been asking to see her sweetheart, begging to be with him even though she had duties to complete on the  _Titan_. And here she was, clamoring for Killian in the same manner. This was pathetic.

Sniffling, she recklessly asked the first afterthought that crossed her mind. "You're not from England, are you?" Ever since she had heard Belle's accent, she had guessed as much ― but it would have been pointless to inquire about her new friend's story while in a prison cell.

Instead of taking offense at her question, Belle giggled. "You're very perceptive, Emma ― I had no idea my origins were such a matter of curiosity for you too."

"So I've been told before," Emma grumbled quietly, a grin tugging at her lips despite her pain.

Belle leaned forward excitedly. "Well," she whispered eagerly, "would you like to hear a story?"

Emma nodded, resting against the pillow and closing her eyes. Slowly, her mind cleared, her breathing steady and strong.

"I was born in France," Belle began, "but my father was a cloth merchant, so I grew up learning both French and English thanks to his travels and his respect for other languages. Papa was always so kind to me, especially after Mama died...buying me all the books I wanted and helping me tend to the rosebushes in the garden behind our house..." Her voice became wistful and nostalgic, on which Emma reached out her bound hand to her. She accepted it, smiling gratefully. "We were...happy ― as happy as humanly possible. My two sisters died of the fever when they were young, but my father didn't lose hope then, and he certainly didn't lose it after Mama was gone. He kept his faith, and for years nothing changed...until my sixteenth birthday."

She wrinkled her nose, remembering Diane's parents. "That's when he found you your fiancé?"

Belle rolled her eyes. "His name is Gaston," she specified disgustedly.

"Is he a good man?"  _The foremost concern._

She was apparently surprised by Emma's choice of words. "Right on mark," she noted appreciatively, "but sadly, the answer's no. He's a self-contained fop who needs a lesson in manners and for someone to strip him of his pretentious airs. He may have fooled Papa, but he doesn't fool me: money is the only thing he's after―"

A series of knocks permeated the empty air, Belle rising to go open the door. Emma suddenly was nervous, her fingers entwined and her stomach in knots: it was her first encounter with Killian all over again, and she couldn't understand why she felt this way. But when the last barrier was pulled back, she did.

* * *

The hesitation and wary defensiveness in Killian's blue eyes was not what she was expecting at all. Instead of his smirks or the usual brightness in his countenance when he saw her, he was peering at the floor more often than not, his gaze darting around the room so rapidly it made her feel dizzy.  _Why wouldn't he look at her?_  Her semi-felicitous mood crumbled to pieces.

She waited, staring at the sheets and the bandages on her hands, as Doc explained to the Captain the logic in his plan for her recovery. She waited, her own eyes downcast and still seeing nothing, when Killian lifted her into his arms once more and took her to his chambers, his steps never wavering and his hands firm. When she did sneak a glance at his pale, haunted face out of sheer need, it was like stone and ice, unmoving and formidable. Even the cheeky pirate was not visible in the stead of this unfeeling statue ― it was unnerving and chilling, this new mask of his.

While he lowered her into his bed, the rustling of the sheets and coverlet was the only noise in the din of unadulterated silence. And the more he avoided her, the more the sharp squeezing inside her lungs suffocated her, the strain becoming unbearable. Her hands were wrapped around his neck in a fervent embrace, but he pried them off without a word. She was right in front of him, begging him to speak, and he was―

The instant he turned around to leave, still not speaking, rage took over, blinding her reason. She just wanted to know why.  _Why_.

"Killian..." she whispered, desperate for him to react. He was acting like he didn't care, and it was frightening her.

She heard him clear his throat, but he was still facing the door. "From what I understand, we will be sharing the same accommodations, so I sincerely hope you will have a pleasant stay here during the next four weeks. Now, if you'll excuse me―"

" _Stop_." All the anguish building in her chest had come to a head, threatening to destroy her from the inside out if she didn't release it. Port Royal, and now this. It was like after Diane's death: her heart couldn't withstand it all.  _She had trusted him to never hurt her..._

He still wouldn't answer her, but he didn't take another step. Good. That meant she had his attention.

"Why―" she croaked out, "why are you doing this?" How long ago it had been when she had asked him this very question, under slightly different circumstances...

Every facial feature was guarded, every flicker of his sight was determined. "Doing what, darling?" he inquired coldly.

Her limbs started shaking, pain rising like a mythical phoenix from the ashes of her worst regrets, her deepest grief. She snapped, "You know exactly what. You're treating me like a stranger, Killian ― as if we didn't just go to hell and back together ― and damn it, I want to know  _why!_ "

He opened his mouth, closing it abruptly and swallowing hard. The gesture only inflamed Emma's anxious fury. But then again...there always was a calm before the storm... "You're pushing me away," she gasped, her contained composure returning as realization dawned on her. She wanted to go to him, but her weak legs were confined under their fabric restraints in spite of her relentless tugging.

At last, a shred of warmth re-entered his bloodshot eyes. He looked gaunt and careworn, as if some waged war had literally broken him and left him fragile. "Emma...believe me, it's better ― for both of us," he emphasized, but his voice cracked in the middle of his profession and she couldn't listen anymore.

"Better?" she reiterated dryly. "I was willing to die to protect you ― I'm going to have scars on my back for the rest of my life because of Witkins, and that is all you can say? That we should be apart?"

"You've said it yourself, lass ― without me, that wouldn't have happened. Have you seen yourself in the mirror? Your afflictions―"

"Don't twist my words, Killian," she replied between gritted teeth. "I  _chose_  to―"

In a second he was by her, his face before hers. " _No._ " he snarled. "You didn't  _choose_  anything. Witkins only got to you thanks to me ― so feel free to lay the blame at my doorstep."

The stinging behind her eyelashes was becoming prevalent, and Emma was nearly choking on her own words. "I don't blame you! I could never―"

"You should," he interrupted bitterly. His gaze darkened, clouded by some undefinable emotion.

All of her senses were screaming at her, and her voice was almost at their command as well. She wrenched herself from her stagnant state and was almost pitched forward by the resulting force, What was this about? Then intuition whispered to her, and her eyes widened. "How can you possibly think," she responded incredulously, her tone sharp, "that  _you_  did this to me?  _You_  found me,  _rescued_  me. By all accounts, you're a hero―"

"No!" He was loud and unyielding, his grimace visible. "If it wasn't for me," he began ferociously, pacing by the bed, "none of this would have occurred. It's  _my_  fault ― all of it is  _my_  fault!"

"It was out of your control ― neither of us are to blame!" Emma defended, battling her tears. What was this pernicious game?

He sighed, biting his tongue as he sat down on the chair by her bedside. "But I failed. I failed to save you in time, to spare you from your suffering, and when I did come, you almost died...and I am responsible for that."

She couldn't stand it anymore ― he was tossing her feelings back and forth like one would a child's toy ball. "Why do you so desperately want to make me hate you ― when I've only ever―?" she cried out, restraining her sobs by digging her fingers into the comforter.

His voice hardened into a harsh, husky growl. "So you'll stop being attached to me." When her jaw dropped open in shock, he murmured to himself, "And so I won't be attached to you."

He appeared to be tormented and his fists were shuddering, but she couldn't withhold her palm from slapping his cheek, her indignation raging from his rejection and his newly born hatred. He caught her hand afterwards, his eyes narrowed.

"Why did you come after me?" she whispered, her mind drained and void. "Why not leave me to die there, if you were so intent on crushing my heart?"  _Please...don't do this._

"I didn't want more blood on my hands," he answered quickly, ignoring the wetness glistening on her face.

She closed her eyes, catching her breath before snapping them open and glaring at him heatedly. "Killian Jones," she hissed venomously, focused on her driving hurt, "you're protecting  _yourself_ , not me. You are selfish and ruthless; you may fancy yourself a gentleman, but you're no different from the rest who carry around that title like a colorful banner ― a  _liar_  and a  _pretender_."

She was yelling hoarsely, hoping he felt as scorned as she did and heedless of any of his reactions. After all, it was the only hope that remained. "You said you have killed and plundered and ravished, and you have no remorse. You have stabbed at me with words and hid behind them, doing more damage than you'd imagine possible. You are no better than Witkins ― a damned  _coward_."

"And you're a bloody  _fool_ , falling for a dirty scoundrel like me. Well, guess what? I am done with you," he retorted cruelly, dropping her hand and hurrying from the bed.

Before he could exit, Emma controlled her quivering lower lip, the stuttering of her tongue when she spoke. "Better to be a fool ― it can be remedied, while the other cannot," she decreed caustically. "And for the record," she enunciated frigidly when he had almost slid out the half-open door, "I  _never_  cared for you. I could  _never_  feel  _anything_  for such a  _monster_. You have no heart."

With his head bowed, he drew one final, burning glance, his expression unreadable. "I have no need for one." He paused, noticing the floor. "My quarters are solely yours until you are well," he stiffly stated. "Good day, Miss Swan."

Ripples of horror, betrayal, and shame expanded into an overwhelming tide that had her writhing under the covers, her sobs muffled by the pillows. Pillows that smelled like him, his scent in the feathers, in the very air. She couldn't escape him, his visage in her vision like a constant reminder. He had spited her, sought to cut her off. He wasn't sorry. And no, she still didn't accept this. She couldn't.

Had it all been a lie ― all of it? His genuine warmth, his self-sacrifice, his smiles...everything?

She was perplexed, wandering through a labyrinth of confusion, a mire of doubt. For the first time in a long time, she felt so alone. So helpless.

And the only thing left to her was regret.

Because, no matter what they both had said, she couldn't hate him.

* * *

_The blood dripping down her back onto the sheets of the doctor's cot was discomfiting, even though he had seen many a battle wound and many dying men. Dying women, too._

_There was so much of the dreaded liquid, the irate slashes across her skin fearsome to behold as they bled. Doc was wiping it away, the new girl called Belle keeping Emma properly covered during surgery. His lass was lying facedown, her arms and legs motionless with her lovely hair swept to the side. However, anesthetic had been applied just in case she awoke meanwhile._

" _These two middle ones will need stitches ― ten each, if I'm not mistaken," the doctor mumbled, wringing the now red rag in pinkish water. "Belle, could you get the sewing kit for me out of my bag?"_

_Killian watched the threaded needle weave in and out of the air, wincing when it punctured her skin. His vision glazed over and was blurred until Doc was patting him on the shoulder and Belle was folding a blanket around Emma's form. Her ankle had been wrapped, but there wasn't much to do for that besides resting the foot in question._

_When Doc had cut off the fragments of her dress, Emma's exposed skin was literally dotted with bruises of all shapes and sizes, some purple and other green. Her ribs were not broken, fortunately, and she did not have another concussion ― but there was much to worry about for her back. That golden plane of her beautiful frame, destroyed by the curse of the whip... The doctor had cautioned Killian not to stay while he operated, but he had refused. Emma was his..._

_Then the blurred image cleared, and he couldn't believe what he saw._

_Milah._

_Her brown hair flowing beneath her shoulders, her brown eyes glowing with delight when he clasped the necklace around her neck. Her smile._

_After years, he remembered clearly. He remembered why, he remembered how. He remembered every moment until the end. And the memories cut at him, more acutely than the deadliest blade._

_As quickly as they faded, Emma's lovely face replaced Milah's, and he was again in the present, the past gone with the wind. But its remnants did not depart._

_With every tick of the clock's hands, the sensation of prickly thorns pressing into the innermost parts of his heart enumerated. When he acknowledged what it was, he began to feel stifled by the room, its unconscious occupant the cause._

_No, he was the cause._

_He found himself closed up in his own cabin, his head against the door. No one could see, so he let go. Collapsing on the floor, he hid his face in his hands._

_Guilt was strangling him, devouring his relief at Emma's safety. Safety? Hah. He had put her in danger in the first place._

_Then his bleeding thoughts wrestled with his wretched memories, and in the strangest twist of all, they blended. He recognized the parallels, the similarities ― and he couldn't breathe... Because drowning in himself rather than in the sea was a far more fitting punishment._

_Running his fingers through his hair, he was suddenly on his feet and attacking his room, slamming his fists against the wall. Even though Witkins was dead... Even though Port Royal was leagues underwater and his father wouldn't find him for a long, long time... The bastard's taunts resounded. In turn, he relived the terror, the anger...the horrid fear that Emma would be dead by the time he reached her._

_Fate ― or Providence ― has redesigned the chessboard to his advantage, but with a price. There were repercussions. One of them was the condition of the beauty in Doc's chambers, the only girl since Milah who had made him_ feel.

_Oh, the things he felt for her...for his darling Emma... He knew what they were._

_Her sweet siren's voice, her talents, her spirit... Selfishly, he wanted her to live. No, he wanted_ her _, for always. But the closer they became, the more obstacles lodged themselves in their joined path._

_He didn't want this to happen again ― that her safety would be at stake and she would be moved like a pawn because of her importance to him, because of how much she meant to him._

_Taking a bottle of rum out of his cabinet, he had a long swill of its contents ― only alcohol could numb the after-effects of what he was going to do. Eyeing the bottle itself warily, he threw it against the wall in an abrupt fit of rage, reveling in how the glass smashed into nothingness._

_In order to prevent a recurrence of this tragedy, he had no choice. Emma could not be his. And he could not be hers. He would not let anyone use her like that again ― he would ensure that she would live, that she would survive. But that could not be, unless...they were nothing to each other._

_Hatred would have to be planted in place of love._

* * *

"Doc, it's been nearly a week with no change. This cannot go on!" Belle argued, striding angrily across the main deck.

He rubbed his hand over his face, looking tired and worried. "You know perfectly well that I can't force her to eat―"

She was next to him immediately, her tone brutally reprimanding. "Emma is in shock ― she won't talk to anyone, she's near delirium in her sleep, she's feverish, she won't take anything but water, and you won't do anything to help her?"

Doc gritted his teeth in self-control. "There is only so much I can do ― recovery relies mostly on the patient's consti―"

"That's utter codswallop, and you know it," she snapped. "You know the source of the problem ― just get him to talk to her again! Hasn't he noticed how serious the situation is? We need to stage an intervention of some sort!"

They were now by the railing, gazing out at the restless sea. Stars shone down brightly, a striking opposite to the current atmosphere on the ship. "We shouldn't have allowed the Captain to visit her without telling her of his...new mentality," she whispered to herself. "When Emma is like this, she'll never get better ― because she has to have the  _will_  to."

Sighing deeply, he leaned over and rested against the cool wood, his bout of temper ended. "If only I  _could_  get through to him. Belle...Killian's been drinking. Hard, and non-stop. I can't reason with him when he's not sober." He laughed wryly. "On a side note, we're lucky the crew's so competent on their own or we'd be shipwrecked by now."

Belle fiddled with her curls, pursing her lips uneasily. "Just how bad is his...intemperance?"

The doctor snorted, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "As bad as it was after...Milah." He clicked his tongue disapprovingly at this revelation.

"Milah?" she questioned. "Who is she to the Captain?"

Dragging his hands further down into the pockets of his overcoat until the seams almost burst from the exertion, he motioned to her with a turned shoulder that she should follow him, walking towards the helm. "Let's just say that she was someone very dear to him..."

* * *

_Diane tumbled into her bunk bed, smiling widely. Her fingers went to her lips for a moment, touching them secretively before she curved her arms behind her head and stretched out on the covers._

" _Someone's happy tonight," Emma commented sourly, handing her the part of their food rations that she had saved. Diane waved them off._

" _He had the Captain give us a private dinner ― under moonlight and the sound of a lonely violin," she exclaimed breathlessly, so caught up in her memory that she didn't see Emma frown and bite her lip._

_This wasn't the first time ― nor would it be the last, Emma suspected ― that Diane had ignored everything surrounding her but her lover, living through each day as if he were the sun and moon, the very breath she depended on. To Diane, it was true love. To Emma, it was obsession, pure and simple._

" _Diane..." She sat down on the lower bed. "We need to talk."_

_Again, she waved her concerns away. "I'm alright, Emma ― don't worry about me."_

_Emma smiled half-heartedly at her explanation, blowing out the candle as they prepared to go to sleep. Now, with the lights out, her sorrows could come out to play, sending nightmares to scare away her dreams..._

* * *

Emma bolted upright, gasping and respiring haggardly. No, she would not witness that again. Never, ever again. She wouldn't watch Diane's life turn into ashes a second time.

Peering at the window in the corner, she tentatively pivoted out of the bed, the soles of her feet resting firmly on the floor. One step preceded another until she was standing in front of the long mirror.

She was literally shattered. Her body looked like it had been broken into pieces and put together again, that ridiculous nursery rhyme coming to mind. Disgusted by her appearance and the way her sweaty, clammy skin stuck to the nightgown she was wearing ― the same one she had worn more than a week ago ― Emma paced through the room. She felt like a caged animal, her fate chasing her in this cursed cabin, and she wanted out. She wanted to be free from herself.

When she attempted to twist the doorknob, she recalled what was awaiting her outside this door. A flurry of work, her two overprotective friends, a worried crew...and a Captain who didn't want her. He didn't want her here anymore.

Somehow she was mangling the sheets again, collapsed on the damp comforter which had collected all her tears and misery.

 _Diane..._  She had been the only person who had loved her. No one else had ever wanted her, ever needed her. No, Emma's destiny was to be unloved, unwanted, despised, and cast out. It was all true...so true...

Through her sobs, she stammered haltingly to the empty air, "I let him in... I trusted him ― but he turned his back on me. He  _hates_  me ― I've been deceiving myself that it was different. How could I, a filthy orphan who was abandoned by her own parents, ever be worthy of anything? I only had one friend, one person who cared ― and she's gone. She's gone, and she's never coming back..."

In the midst of her hysteria, Emma didn't even noticed Belle and Doc enter the captain's quarters, the girl rushing to her side and helping her get back into her soft prison despite her struggling.

"Emma ― shh, it's only us," she said calmly, taking the wet cloth from the washtub on the bedside table and patting it across Emma's forehead. "Doc and I are here to keep you company, and Soupy sent you some foo―"

"I DON'T WANT IT!" Emma shouted, pushing Belle away and burying her head in the pillows. When she felt a soothing hand caress her hair, her crying grew worse. Flipping on her side, she begged, "Doc, please...don't keep asking me to eat. I want to ― I want to be with  _her_. Please,  _please_  let me."

"Who's 'her'?" Belle quietly asked the doctor, who mumbled back, " _Diane_...her best friend..."

She continued to talk as if they hadn't interrupted. "I need to be with her ― to take care of her. I belong where she is...my only family. Killian ― he...he... No one will miss me. Let me die in peace, that's all I ask. Let me be with her...I want to be with  _her_..." She had never been this vulnerable in front of anyone. Nor this ashamed...

The glance Belle gave her was heartbreaking, as if Emma had slapped her. "But  _we_  will miss you, Emma ― Doc and I and the four very worried men on deck who ask for you every day. We don't want you to leave us! Please, Emma...try and eat a little."

"Don't patronize me," Emma grumbled wearily. She closed her eyes momentarily. "Why are you fighting so hard for me to live, when I only want to die? Why bother?  _Why_?"

Doc knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his and staring into her red-rimmed eyes. "Emma..." he began empathetically, "I know you loved her ― and I admit, I loved her too, in my own bumbling way. Then she was ripped from both of us, and we were both devastated, though I cannot claim to fathom the depth of your friendship or that I loved her more than you did." He sounded so sincere, speaking so deeply that Emma felt moved, fixated by his voice. She listened, her eyes finally dry.

"Dearest Emma...you're brave and strong and intelligent, and you have so much heart. You share what you have with others, and you never think twice about it ― even when it costs you. You are a fiercely loyal friend, a dedicated sailor, and a talented, beautiful lady. I'm fighting for you to live, because what Killian told you was so true: you  _are_  brilliant. Remember that you deserve so much more than what you have received so far. Because, Emma...you are a remarkable woman. Don't ever lose sight of that truth, even when you're surrounded by the worst darkness."

She couldn't breathe. He meant every word, there was no mistaking it. And the warmth emanating from him and Belle, the caring...it broke her heart all over again. She was acting like a distressed little girl who couldn't have her way, who didn't know what to do. But she wasn't a child anymore ― she was a grown-up, fully conscious, and her behavior was hurting the two people who had always helped her.

 _And, maybe...just maybe...Killian hasn't abandoned you either_ , her innermost hope whispered pleadingly.

"I'm a survivor," Emma finally murmured in reply to his speech, peering at Belle and Doc from under her eyelashes with a small grin on her lips.

"Yes, you are," Belle agreed, half-smiling as she leaned over to place a careful kiss on her forehead, sneaking a pillow behind her back. "Now...how about that lunch?"

* * *

"You have a visitor," Doc announced cheerily, pleased by his patient's progress. Another week had passed, but Emma was eating regularly now, and that was a definite improvement. She spent her days reading in bed, absorbed like Belle by Killian's small library, and she had asked for a bath as well, but he had judged that it would be best she wait a little longer, just to be sure the wounds would not re-open under the influence of water.

Emma put down Dante's "Paradiso" with a mock frown. "Oh?" she teased. "Belle's been convinced to spend some time apart from you, has she?"

For the first time she had met him, the doctor blushed and looked embarrassed. "Uh..." He stopped short. "You have a penchant for tricky questions, you know that?" he countered with mock severity, smirking when she laughed.

"Alright, alright ― my work is done," she winked. "Do send him in, please."

The sight of Leroy petting an overlarge, black-and-white cat enfolded by his arms was rather incredible, in Emma's opinion. She couldn't decide how to react.

"Hi, Emma," he said shyly, grinning when he saw how her eyes flickered between him and the purring cat. "This girly here wanted to finally meet you ― she's our savior, y'know. Took care of those damn rats by herself and everything."

He took a seat and continued to stroke her. Recognizing the longing in Emma's eyes, he offered, "Hey ― would you like to hold her?"

She hesitated when he stretched out his arms, feline in hand, but a slow smile crossed her lips and she gently took the cat onto her lap. Holding out her fingers in front of its nose, Emma let the cat smell her scent, amazed as she began to rub against her fondly before nestling into her embrace.

Leroy was happier than she had seen him since he had first visited her. "See ― she likes you. Give her some milk and she'll be your friend for life." He lowered his voice into a sly whisper. "And I'll even share a secret with ya ― this fuzzy here is going to be a mama real soon."

The corners of her eyes prickled, her memory hard at work.  _What about a kitten...?_ "Kil...Killian found her?" she asked curiously. "In Port Royal?"

"Yup."

"And...and he knew? That she was...expecting?"

Grumpy nodded. "He's got good eyes." On noticing her crestfallen face, he grimaced slightly, apologizing, "I...didn't mean anything by that..." He peeked to see if Doc was truly occupied with digging inside Killian's cabinet. "But, Emma...he's still a good man. Give him another chance, will ya?"

"Leroy..." She bit her lip. " _He_  rejected  _me_ , not the other way around."

He shook his head. "He was just afraid to lose you ― like you're afraid to lose him. Hey, on the bright side, you've got at least one thing in common ― you've both got abandonment issues," he winked, trying to lighten the mood.

She managed a grin, gathering enough courage to pet the adoring creature snuggling with her. "Does she have a name?" Changing the subject was the safest where Killian was involved ― thinking of him...was dangerous.

"Nope ― but I'm pretty sure you'll find one."

* * *

Constance considered Emma to be her stronghold, apparently, because she absolutely refused to leave the Captain's quarters. She wailed loudly outside the door when Emma finally had her bath, she languorously strode about dominantly and proudly when Belle straightened the room with a brisk cleaning once a day, and she never slept anywhere else but by Emma's side at night. They were inseparable companions, the cat's meows and purring the new lullaby to which Emma fell asleep. And the loyal sea was still there, waiting patiently right outside the open window, while the two regained their health.

However, a new desire was growing in Emma ― an anxious, restless desire to see Killian again. These past two weeks, she had pressed him into the back corner of her mind, eager to be rid of him. But Leroy's comments had reawakened what had been between them ― what had always been between them: this inexplicable bond that drew them closer together in spite of their wishes, their fears, their troubles, their inner demons.

She needed to see him again...to be with him. She recalled how he had held her when they were ambushed by Witkins, how they had fought side by side. Their meaningful kiss afterwards, the thrill of escaping with him, the longing to be home. That had not changed. Her home was where he was, and she couldn't deny it any longer.

He was in her heart, residing there. He had never left, and now...she understood it all. His desperation to save her from himself, his weak vow to make her despise him. How could he not see that she could fight anything they came across, as long as they were together? She had never feared death, so neither should he. Because no matter what would be, she would always live in his heart as well.

He couldn't lose her when he had already found her.

* * *

_Doc stomped into the shabby, tiny cabin Killian occupied, slamming the door against the wall. In response, Killian put his hands over his ears and groaned. His words slurred when he spat out, "Have some mercy on the ears, mate."_

" _Get up," the doctor snarled, infuriated. "I can't stand to look at you like this, Killian ― what the hell has become of you, the great pirate captain? Drinking to oblivion, living on rum, neglecting your life?"_

" _That's it ― I don't have a life." He hiccuped, teetering violently when he rose to his feet. "Rum helps drown out the voices in my head," he explained drunkenly. "The voices...of my memories...Milah's voice..."_

" _And what about Emma?" Doc snapped. "Is she just some horrible remembrance you want to shut out?"_

_His gaze half-hooded, the Captain wobbled over to the wall, leaning on it for support. "She deserves better than a demon like me. Just like Milah did."_

_Exasperated, the doctor lifted the bucket in his hands and aimed its contents at Killian's face, smirking at the resulting curses and yells. "Enough of your whining and self-pity!" he rebuked harshly, throwing the bucket down with a loud bang. "Instead of reminiscing constantly about how life has punished you, you should bloody acknowledge how fortunate you are!"_

_Drenched from the top of his head down to his bare feet, Killian coughed and sputtered, shaking water onto the floor. He glared at Doc, who took it as a sign to continue._

" _You have the ship of your dreams, the sea at your feet, a loyal crew, friends...and a girl who is utterly devoted to you."_

" _Emma?" he muttered, chuckling sadly. "I don't have her...I never did. And after our last conversation...she'd never want to see me again, let alone speak to me."_

" _You're wrong, Killian. You've been so invested in your unhappiness, feeling sorry for yourself and moping over all the bad choices you've made, that you've forgotten what you've done right. I firmly believe that your meeting her was the best thing that has ever happened to you. You have to stop comparing Emma to Milah. You have to forgive yourself and move on."_

_Killian threaded his fingers through his disheveled wet hair, eyeing his soaked boots warily. "That may be so...but...there's one problem, Doc."_

" _And what's that?" he argued._

" _How to get_ her _to forgive me..."_

* * *

It had been far too long since she had walked across the main deck, the light breeze rustling her hair. The ocean was warm and inviting, blue and bold...and being a part of the ship again was bloody fantastic. Thank God that Belle had persuaded her to go from that stuffy room ― with the doctor's permission, of course.

She couldn't return to her duties as a helmsman ― much like she couldn't wear a corset ― until she was fully healed, which wouldn't be until the end of Doc's designated four weeks. Still, it was good to feel the rhythm of the waves settling the  _Jolly_ , the wonderful memories that sprang up from a glance at the helm.

Smee had politely inquired about her health, Smarty and Leroy fussing over her like she was an invalid and with no intention of stopping; that had been slightly annoying, but she was glad to see them again. Constance had enjoyed the new environment, and all in all, Emma had been pleased.

What she couldn't comprehend was why Belle was now ushering her below deck, urging her to leave the fresh air for the Captain's quarters. "You'll see why ― you'll see!" was the only phrase she reiterated, not replying to Emma's hurried queries.

Nothing looked out of the ordinary when they entered ― that is, except the bulky, massive object lying opposite the bed, by Killian's desk. It was covered in a deep maroon velvet cloth, and it appeared to be heavy.

"Belle...what is that?" Emma clutched Constance to her chest.

She giggled. "Silly, it's something." Between Emma's snorts, she uttered mysteriously, "But before you can find out what it is exactly, you have to close your eyes." Constance jumped to the floor.

A handkerchief was tied around her head, turning day into night, and Emma barely restrained an indignant complaint when she heard Belle's footsteps recede into the distance, the door closing gently.

"Is this some kind of jest?" she sighed, reaching up to undo the knot.

"No, darling...it's called a gift," a sultry voice murmured into her ear, its loving tone increasing her heartbeat.

In an instant her blindfold was gone, and she could see him. Really, truly see him. His startling oceanic gaze was penetrating her thin, white dress, hers in turn viewing the crisp, white long-sleeved shirt that contrasted with his black breeches, no leather accents on his figure. He looked like he had been through hell, but so did she.

He looked...splendid.

Killian took her hands in his, brushing soft kisses over her knuckles. "God, I've missed you, Emma."

The smile spreading across her face must be radiant, because she felt like she was shining, lit from the inside out. Her hands cupping his cheeks, she whispered, "You came back to me..." Tears leaked out, beyond her control.

His thumbs wiped them away, his soft grin widening. "Dearest..." he started imploringly. "All those things I said...I didn't―"

"I know." He raised a brow at her. "I didn't mean any of what I said either."

"So you forgive me?"

She settled closer to him, her breath brushing his lips. "Killian...I'm tired of fighting whatever there is between us. I've found you, and I'm not going to lose you, so I've made my choice: sticks and stones may try to break us apart, but I don't care about that. I care about you. I surrender to you...only you..." she declared before exploring his mouth, hungrily and tenderly. With every touch she was begging him to return her feelings. To not flee.

He smiled, taking the time to taste her thoroughly. "And  _I_ ," he huskily intoned, passionately kissing along her jawline and down her neck, "surrender entirely to  _you_ , love.  _Only_  you."

She tilted her head back, running her hands through his dark hair, and when he claimed her lips again, she answered eagerly. He only ceased while guiding her to her present, pulling her with him.

With an elegant flourish, he whipped away the cover, exposing an oaken upright piano to the light. It was divine, luxurious ivory keys and plush bench testifying to its beauty. "For you...because you said you always wanted to learn how to play..." His shy, yearning expression was shadowing her every move, how she fingered the keys delicately and traced the outline of the polished wood.

"You bought this...for me? In Port Royal?" She still couldn't believe it. "But who will teach me how to play?"

"Didn't you know?" He walked from where he had been leaning against his desk and reached her side, placing his hand over hers. "This lovely comes with a special addition."

She smirked, trying to hide the shock and surprise filtering through her mesmerized stare. "And what's that?"

"Me."

Emma turned, her eyes widening. "You know how to play? And you never told me?"

He shrugged indifferently. "It's not a skill that a pirate advertises, lass. I just wanted to show you...that maybe...you've found the right man..."

She couldn't help how her arms drew him to her, her cheek pressed against his chest to feel his pulse trilling vibrantly. "No one has ever,  _ever_  done something like that for me..."

He lifted her chin with his fingers, searching for her soul. "Then love has been all too rare in your life. Truly, Emma...it was my pleasure to do so ― though my men may have some harsh words for me when I show myself again―"

Her lips crashed onto his, gratitude and wonder and hope spiraling through her vision. She wanted him to see what she saw, to feel what she felt in that moment: glorious ecstasy. Her very being was enraptured, all thanks to him.

Constance's black tail winding itself around her legs interrupted, tickling Emma's skin and causing her to giggle. "Another of your wonderful gifts..." She cuddled the eager cat in her arms, Constance's affectionate green eyes glancing from Emma to Killian and a curious meow erupting from her white throat. "This is Killian, Constance ― and he loves you as much as I do."

His hand lightly caressed the top of the cat's head. "I knew you'd take her and her future wee ones under your wing ― like you've done for me..."

She blushed. "So...are we going to begin a lesson now―?"

"Actually, darling, there's something we need to discuss before that can happen...a part of my story that you need to know. The reason...why I pushed you away..." He slipped a hand into the pocket of his breeches, pulling out a piece of brown parchment.

She gaped at the drawing on it. "Is this―?"

"Yes, it is. Emma, this is Milah."

* * *


	21. Chapter 21

_Rats were nipping at her heels, and she jerked backwards, scuttling to the furthermost corner of the cell. It was damp and cold and dark, just like her nightmares. She had nothing to eat, nothing to see but the blank wall, and nothing to hope for. Again, she was alone in her misery._

_She sniffled loudly to prevent any signs of distress, forcing air into her lungs and determination into her heart. One little mistake, and she had been dragged by a suspecting policeman into the nearest gaol. Ironically, she was mortified at her_ clumsiness _in being caught than she was at_ being caught _._

_The worst was, however, that no one would come for her. There was no reason why her friends would barge in and save her ― that would mean certain death for them, as mercy was a rare occurrence these days. And there was no one else who cared. Not for a nine year old orphan ― a sooty, hungry, unwanted girl._

" _Hey you ― you're up next," growled the burly prison guard, eyeing her like she was a spit of meat about to roast over an open fire. When he burst in to yank her forward and out of the cell by her arms, she couldn't control the shudders that rippled through her body._

_No more waiting. Her time had come._

* * *

She could see an arc of the sun peeking over the edge of the horizon, brushstrokes of red, orange, and rosy purple bleeding into the now yellowish sky that served as a canvas. When asked, most people would garble that the sunrise always indicated the start of a new day, a new beginning ― but no one ever said that it only signaled the continuation of the day before, that yesterday's errors, misgivings, and tribulations were taking their toll on the present as well as the past.

Emma shook her head gently as a light breeze teased her hair, golden strands in flight. Leaning against the railing, she rested her face in her hands, listening to the aching silence of the sea undulating around the ship. A few of the crew were up and about, at their respective stations, but other than them, the main deck was empty of its usual pandemonium. It was lonely, but gratifying at the same time, for she could hear herself think.

For a long time, she had wanted this conversation to happen, but now that it had, she felt uncertain, bewildered, and a little frightened. The history Killian had with this woman, the one he had been harboring so carefully in the stronghold of his heart, was sure to be overwhelming, to say the least, but this...this had not been a mere anecdote he had related. It was a love story ― his love story ― and she now recalled all too well how the only one she had ever witnessed had been crushed to dust.

It still hurt that Killian had ignored her, that he had left her when she had needed him...but her heart was crying for him. This was Diane's pain, the sorrow of all who have loved and lost. She knew it distinctly, but not as well as her best friend and Killian did. All she could feel was how she wanted to go back and comfort him more, to reassure him that she understood and wouldn't judge him...

Finally, she could peruse the flood of memories seeking to drown her mind...and hopefully, afterwards, the tide would calm.

"Can't sleep either?" Doc had strode forward from behind the helm, glancing at the rapidly growing sun, now red and gold over blue.

Emma half-smiled sadly, looking down at her folded hands. "I think Killian's enjoying the use of his bed again."

"Sadly, I can't say the same ― Belle's acquisitioned mine and barricaded the door, so I have to be satisfied by a guest chamber," he jested, a wide smirk on his lips as he joined her by the railing. "Much to think on?"

She chuckled dryly. "You have no idea." Shuffling her feet, she turned, watching Doc's profile be illuminated by the waxing light.

"I feel there's a question in that statement, just waiting to be answered," he said without facing her.

Reflecting, she ran her hands through her hair in an attempt to soothe her anxieties. "How can it be, that just when I believe I've found my path again," she mumbled tiredly, "I end up hopelessly lost ― and this time, it's because of what I know, not what I don't know?"

"Ah...he's gone off and done it, hasn't he? He's told you about Milah," Doc grimaced.

She half-smiled at his tone. "Not everything about her..." Biting her lower lip, she ventured to ask, "I take it...you didn't like her very much?"

"And now we're in dangerous territory," he replied with a wry chuckle. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes with his hands. "She was...an unusual woman, to say the least. Fiery to the bitter end, deadly determined, opinionated as hell ― and she could drive anyone to insanity with that iron will of hers... So no, I did not like her," he snorted.

Emma pursed her lips. "She was that bad?"

"No...and yes..." He tugged at his hair nervously. "Emma, for Killian, it was if the moon and stars revolved around Milah. I had already known him for a year before he met her...and God, was he different then. Constantly furious, merciless, implacable ― every bit the pirate he claimed to be ― but I respected him nonetheless. His motives for revenge were...well, strangely justified to me, at least ― having been in same boat, so to speak ― and after Isolde, I knew all too well the pain of losing a loved one, the horror of having them stolen from you by another's greed. Perhaps I was too blinded by my own sorrow to convince him to do otherwise, to turn from his set course...

"When he met  _her_ ," Doc continued, "he visibly softened under her touch; she had a substantial influence on him, and it was during the beginning of their tryst that I was pushed to the side, my advice ignored. He stopped listening to me, even though I had never failed him ― even though there were times when Milah was obviously wrong about certain 'calls to action.' She never asked him to give up his revenge ― in fact, she relished in our encounters with his father's vessels, took pleasure in the violence and the killing. The worst part about Milah was how volatile she was when she didn't get her way: for a spinner's wife, she was certainly the most stubborn, prickly bint I had ever known."

"But I'm stubborn and volatile," Emma teased gently. "Why then do you tolerate me?"

He grinned widely. "Must you search for compliments, Miss Swan? Then I will tell you one of these truths, which seems to have been kept a secret for far too long." Leaning in closer, he whispered, "You are one of the most caring, hard-working people I have ever known."

She blushed, not sure how to answer that. Doc nodded at her telling response and gestured to himself. "All my life, Emma, I've fought again and again against my greatest weakness: my own selfishness. When you love someone else, the altruism invested in that emotion helps a good deal to overcome the demon within that clamors for self-love. When I had Isolde, my ambition and material desires were forgotten because I felt this need inside, this will to ensure her happiness before my own. She was my best influence, my encouragement and my better self. And that's what love should bring: it should elicit the best in you, temper the worst. Have you ever heard the saying that 'like clashes with like'? Well, that was I and Milah. Put two extremely selfish people on the same ship for a period of three years, and you have a brewing, raging war right there, just waiting to erupt―"

"You, selfish?" she scoffed. "That will be true when horses learn how to fly..."

"Horses do fly when they run like the wind," Doc quipped, his half-smile momentary. "In all honesty, though, it  _is_  the truth. I realize that it is banal to say such a thing about selfishness when it applies to us all, but for me, it's one of my most recurrent vices and I despise it the most because it has such a heavy, negative effect on me. I try to hide it, to conquer it by concentrating on my patients and my love for my profession ― but it is difficult nevertheless."

Incredulous, Emma scowled. "If Milah was so selfish, how did she and Killian get along so well?"

The doctor laughed, biting his tongue to stifle leftover chortles. "Touché, Emma. Well, it was a simple arrangement: he would listen to her, agree to her terms, and then do whatever he wanted behind her back. But more often than not, he would do what she wanted. 'Love is blind,' remember?"

Rolling her eyes, she turned around, her back now facing the railing. "And you got along poorly with her because you were merely fellow crewmembers―"

He raised up a hand in mock warning. "Before you say it, I want to make it clear that Milah and I were  _not_  friends. It was a small mercy we survived as long as we did in each other's company, Killian being a clueless git all the while and not noticing how we longed to throw daggers at one another when we were in the same room. I hated her and she hated me with good Christian fellowship."

Emma sighed deeply. "It gets worse, doesn't it?"

Doc nodded. "Indeed, because it wasn't just Milah's personality that irked me beyond belief ― it was her intense disregard for her own flesh and blood. She valued her freedom above her own child, a choice that I repeatedly admonished her about. In return, Milah hated my friendship with Killian, the way I could make him see reason and how he still appreciated my opinion despite her wiles. She wanted the power of command, to be first mate ― which is probably why Smee doesn't have very fond memories of her ― but the climax of our 'relationship' was when she tried and failed to convince the captain that I was a traitor, going so far as to even forge letters between me and his father's mercenaries after that one time we were nearly ambushed by three ships. From then on, we barely acknowledged each other's presence."

"And Killian  _loved_  this insufferable woman?" Emma's blood had surged hotly when she heard that Doc had been accused of treachery. There never was only one version of a story...and it appeared that Doc and she had more in common than she had once thought.

"He loved her passion for life, her fire ― their lust for freedom was exactly the same, and it was their firmest bond. However, in the end, I felt I had misjudged her motherly instincts, because when she was most needed, she went back to Baelfire...and that's when all Hell literally broke loose."

"I heard," she said weakly, biting down on her lower lip. How could she ever forget that gory tale, the rope of retribution that had wound itself around Killian's ankles to make him fall onto despair? "But what I cannot understand is...how Killian would willingly take a mother away from her son, even if she asked him to?"

Doc shook his head sadly. "It wasn't just that she belonged to another ― we know enough about the failings of legal marriage to not give the institution much merit ― but that as much as she called her husband a coward, mocking his insecurities, she was the worst coward of all, deserting her son to begin with. Killian made a mistake in light of his feelings...it was not wise, to agree to take on Milah, but I could not blame him. I still don't, not when I recollect how happy she made him at times. She was both mother and lover, nursing the boy and the man who had been broken by misery and tragedy."

He swallowed hard, gritting his teeth. "But I...I  _hated_  Milah so much that in the end, in spite of Killian's heartbreak and misery, I selfishly admitted to myself that I was glad she was gone." He peered at her tentatively. "Does this crumble your image of me, Emma ― these revelations? To see me like this ― full of hatred and resentment, of judgment?"

She gently placed her hand on the doctor's shoulder. "No, it does  _not_ ," she emphasized. "From all that I've heard, Milah gave Killian the love he wanted, but not the kind that he deserved. As his good confidant, you tried to help him see that, to recognize the kind of woman he had welcomed into his life ― and I like you all the more for it, Doc, that you have the courage to always be honest with Killian...and with me.  _You_  are the best kind of friend there is."

"Thank you." His own hand now covered hers, squeezing it kindly. "There are not many things I am grateful for in my life, but one of them is meeting you, Emma Swan. Killian and I were fortunate to have found you and Diane that day."

Nodding once, Emma glanced again at the horizon. Maybe she had been wrong: maybe today was a day for new beginnings after all.

* * *

_Emma had settled beneath the cozy bedcovers, Constance joining her on top of the comforter. On noticing the hairs lining the small blanket that made a convenient bed for the cat, Killian grumbled under his breath before sitting down beside her. Cat hair on his bed ― just bloody fantastic, it was. The mess animals made was one reason why he had never had any on his ship before. However, the cat's content purrs made him smile, especially when it increased as Emma petted her._

" _So...James?" she asked shyly, still holding Milah's portrait._

" _James?" he repeated, giving her a curious look._

" _The name Witkins said...when he mentioned your father. It seems Jones is your adopted moniker ― yet another one of your many secrets," she teased._

_He narrowed his eyes, a slight smirk on his lips. Aye, she was a clever one, his lass. "You noticed that in the midst of all the turmoil at that time?"_

_Emma shrugged. "Witkins more or less made all of us pay attention to him during his rather lengthy diatribe against you."_

" _Too right_ _, lass." He gently fingered her arm, glancing up at her as he did so. "Speaking of things to notice...I never have a chance to ask you how you are feeling..."_

" _Killian Jones," Emma huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, "are you trying to distract me?"_

" _Is it working?" he answered hopefully._

_Sighing, she leaned back into the pillows, closing her eyes. "I'm better...though Doc was right: my back will take a long time to heal. Happily, the largest cuts have closed and the stitches have been removed," she murmured. "And yourself?"_

_He grimaced, watching how she stroked the parchment before laying on his bedside table. Memories of his absence and his failure to take of her were taunting him cruelly. "I'm sorry to admit that after you last saw me, I had a tragic affair with several bottles of rum...or should I say, barrels."_

" _Indeed,_ _" she responded with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "And I got into a serious argument with Soupy..." Squeezing his hand that was now fisted around the sheets, Emma bit her lip, looking down._

" _Is it true?" He was caressing her fingers, massaging them gently. "That you refused to eat... because of what I said? Of what I did?"_

 _Emma refused to glance at him. "As presumptuous as ever, I take it," she sighed in mock annoyance. "What I did was foolish and exceedingly childish, but it had nothing to do with you. It was my own fault." The weak lie made her voice crack, her words tremble ― and he saw right through the piteous façade._ Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa...

_His other hand had settled over her cheek, his thumb brushing it. "My Emma," Killian murmured regretfully, "I am truly sorry. There were times, when the rum had absorbed me completely, that I wished I had never met you, so that none of this would have happened."_

_His face was next to hers now, his gaze sweeping over every feature. She was so beautiful...so uplifting, even when she was sad. His lovely, lovely lass... "But then...my self-regard was too strong...as well as my regard for you. I couldn't bear the thought of being without you ― my need for you is much too great."_

_After a momentary pause, Emma replied, "Thank God for Doc." A sad half-smile crossed her lips. "And Belle ― it was they who pulled me from my state of desperation. They reminded why I should live, what I have to live for."_

" _Aye, and Doc did the same for me ― more than once, unfortunate man."_

_She peered at him intently. "He knew Milah?"_

_Killian eyed the portrait, smiling faintly. "That he did ― in fact, most of the crew can still recall her. She wasn't a person you forgot easily." He swallowed hard, fingering his ruby-inlaid ring. "She was...by all accounts...my first love."_

_When he didn't elaborate further, Emma must have noticed how his shoulders slumped, anguish gripping him tightly ― because she unhesitatingly invited him in, opening her arms to him. "Stay here," she whispered._

_After an answering look of incredulity, which was dismissed by her widening smile, Killian was in her embrace, his face nestling by her heart and an arm around her waist. "I'm not crushing you, am I?" he asked worriedly, the sound of his voice muffled by the fabric of the light green dress she was wearing._

" _Not at all." She ran a hand through his hair, tangling his dark curls as she repeated the gesture again and again. A little boy and a little girl, both blighted by the world and seeking solace from their sufferings in each other..._

_He was kissing her right palm reverently, pressing it to his cheek. Eventually, he was no longer sitting but lying down next to her, kicking off his boots before he adjusted his position on the covers. They stayed motionless like that for some time, she lost in her thoughts and he lost in her._

" _I met Milah in Port Royal, actually..." he began, holding Emma closer to himself on hearing her sharp intake of breath. "I was only three and twenty, still proud of my conquest of the Jolly and too full of myself to be wiser. We had stopped for supplies and the like...it was risky business, and I admit that I did some idiotic things during my stay, acting like a swaggering cock. I had already waged war on my father for nearly two years, consumed by nothing else, and I was content to keep my daredevil habits. It was during one of my escapades in the marketplace that I first saw her, selling her husband's wares of cloth." Disgust entered his tone for an instant, malevolent and cold. After all these years, he still hated the damn man...still remembered every detail._

" _Like I did with all women, I charmed my way into her approval, taken aback by her sharp tongue and her dark beauty. I had to leave quickly when her husband came to supervise their sales ― a whiny, quivering man with a crippled leg, and I was soon to learn that deformity was not restricted to his body... But anyway, I subsequently pilfered a merchant at the far end of the market, and unfortunately, my boasting almost got me caught. During the chase, I ran into Milah's stall ― asked her to hide me behind her wares, which, oddly enough, she agreed to ― and I was saved. When she cheekily demanded payment and that I return what I had stolen, I kissed her hand, full of wiles as I was, and I offered her a promise before I left: I would give her the ring on the condition that she'd come to the tavern where I was staying and talk to me a bit. Of course the feisty wench called it a trap, so unbeknownst to her, I slipped the ring into the pocket of her apron when I sneaked out. Needless to say, she did come that night, the ring on her finger...and soon, she never left my side again."_

" _Your red ring?" Emma clarified, clearing her throat._

" _Aye...that one." He bit his lower lip. "When I told her that it was high time for me to set sail, she begged me to take her with me...begged me to take her away from her boring life, from her bloody miser of a husband ― Gold was his surname. But it was only until the night before we were to cast away that I discovered she had a son..."_

_He could feel the pounding of her heart under his ear, how her lungs struggled to keep up with her erratic breathing. She was like prey to a hunter, wanting to flee from the danger but too mesmerized to move away to save herself... "How old was he...her son?"_

" _Nearly eleven, I believe. His name...was Baelfire ― Bae, for short." Killian shifted slightly in her arms, his steady breaths rustling the decolletage of lace by his nose._ _"Gold_ _must have found out from one of his neighbors that Milah had gone to me, for he dared to bring their boy with him to the tavern, asking her to come home for his sake. She did, out of guilt...but then the next morning she found my ship at the very end of the dock, clambering onboard without such much as a by-your-leave," he scoffed._

" _Naturally, the man himself came to fetch her soon after, spilling some shoddy lie about me kidnapping Milah, but even though I played along with the tale out of spite, he turned down my challenge to duel for her. Looking back now, I know I said harsh words, too blinded by lust and my own stupidity... In the end, it wasn't piracy that shaped me, lass: my long-desired vengeance had turned me into a cruel man."_

" _You're not," Emma defended, kissing the top of his head._

_He chuckled, his laughter vibrating through her chest. "Do you always see the best in people, love?"_

" _The opposite, actually ― I almost beat up Diane when I first met her, remember?"_

_Looking up, he saw her smile at him. "Milah was similar ― violent, dauntless, a lover of stories. She wanted adventure, to see the world on her own terms...and I gave her that chance."_

" _And what happened to her?"_

_Sombre in an instant, he buried his head deeper into her embrace. "She...she died..."_

" _What?" She was motionless, deep in shock._

_Taking a deep breath, Killian decided to finish what he had started. Courage, man. "Her boy was sick ― Gold kept writing letters to Milah, begging her to return to him, and one day, he told her Bae was dying, that he had caught the fever and was asking for his mother. I thought of Darlie and...she wanted to go, so I let her. I made her promise to come back to me, but..."_

" _But...?" Emma whispered._

_He wriggled until he was sitting upright, his face inches from hers. "I waited three months around Port Royal ― three months of agony and Doc's endless nagging." She giggled at that, brushing her nose lightly against his in the process. He only came closer, wanting her breath to warm his cheek. "Three months, and she didn't return. The good doctor was smarter than I, pleading that we simply leave for the sake of our own lives ― but like a fool, I ordered my crew to wait for me before I went blindly after her._

" _I found her house with little trouble. Barging in, the first thing I saw was her. With Gold. In their room. In their_ bed _." His voice was acidic now, his anger brimming just underneath the surface. He could still see it ― all of it. No, the past never died. It was immortal. "I was yelling profanities, cursing until the house shook from the weight of my fury. I confronted Milah, calling her a whore and a liar, Gold challenged me to a duel ― which I, like a madman, accepted ― and in the midst of all this, I saw Bae, clinging to his mother. Bae, a youth old enough to serve on my ship, was watching his mother, father, and a pirate argue about an affair that had started long before he could understand what it was. When he started asking questions, Gold locked him in his bedroom."_

_She was shivering in his arms, worrying her bottom lip again. Impulsively, he leaned and kissed her, thanking her for standing by him. For waiting, for not running away. For listening. And she kissed him back, her hands caressing his hair. It was fulfilling, spreading comfort throughout his entire body._

_Emma, so innocent and selfless. Milah, so self-absorbed and worldly. What a difference between the two women who had changed his life forever._

" _I don't know how it happened," he choked out. "One moment she was screaming for us to stop, telling me that she still loved me, and the next... Gold looked so inhuman when his sword was still embedded in Milah's chest, but after he pulled it out, he started shouting for help, for the soldiers to come capture the bastard of a pirate who had murdered his wife. I was so dumbstruck that I allowed them to do just that, to pull me away from Milah's bleeding body and take me to Fort Royal ― where I met the infamous Witkins for the first time." He bit his tongue hard to stifle the emotions threatening to elude him._

" _He killed her...and yet, he accused you?" She pressed her lips against his forehead and his cheeks, wiping away each tear with a sweet kiss. He clung to her all the more, needing her desperately. It was all coming back to him now ― the horror of seeing Milah dead, her promise to love him forever broken. Her boy crying over her body, believing that a pirate had killed his mother in cold blood. Gold grinning at him manically._

" _I had never felt jealousy until that day ― never felt like my heart was being crushed within my chest until that second, when life left Milah's eyes. For all of her betrayal, I did love her. I mourned her. And when I managed to escape Port Royal with my crew and Doc's help, I vowed I'd never forget her. And I never did."_

_Emma was coaxing him to lie down, to snuggle with her under the blankets, and he didn't have the will to refuse. Like before, he lowered his head over her heart, her heartbeat lulling him to dreams empty of pain and regret. His eyes closed of their own accord, and he felt himself drifting off when she asked, "But what became of Bae? And Gold?"_

_His arms went around her waist. "I never did find out what became of any of them. When the_ Jolly _finally turned her back on that damn bloody city, I could only see one image: my love, dead on the floor of the home she had told me she hated. And after that earthquake...God only knows."_

" _What about_ _the tattoo...and the portrait?"_

_He smiled grimly. "Parts of my damn memories, physical tokens of my suffering ― two cursed reminders that I try to keep hidden," he muttered sleepily, seeing Milah's face before the darkness came._

* * *

"Why, Belle," Emma commented abruptly, trying to hide a wide grin, "you look like a...a  _warrior_."

"You like it?" she asked happily, twirling around. Burgundy red was everywhere, except for the plain brown leather gloves that covered her arms and the tan scarf that was wrapped over her neck. In fact, it could be called her signature color. With a daring corset, breeches, and boots as part of her ensemble, Belle was quite the pirate, stunning blue eyes surveying her environment while one hand went to her hair, now tied behind her head, and the other clasped the dagger at her waist.

And Emma was not the only one amazed by her friend's transformation from shy bookworm to riveting lady. Doc was also openly gaping at her new attire, his gaze clouding over, his cheeks turning red, and his posture stiffening. The awkward situation was only worsened by Killian's re-appearance on deck.

"Well, what have we here?" he grinned flirtatiously, taking Belle's gloved hand in his and kissing it. "I'm glad my wardrobe was so accommodating. Now there are  _two_  beautiful ladies aboard my ship again ― right, Doc?" He winked at the doctor suggestively.

Emma wanted to shut out the sight ― poor Doc was looking more and more embarrassed every passing moment, especially when Killian marched over to his side with Belle. When she tentatively opened one eye, the Captain was smirking while he gently placed Belle's hand in the doctor's. His concern for his friend was touching, but knowing Doc, pushing him in matter of romance wouldn't help at all ― which is why the man in question was glaring at Killian balefully. Offering his arm to Belle, he turned them around in the direction of the prow, strolling the deck slowly, but not before Emma saw the smallest twitch of a smile on his lips.

"You know," she began, raising a brow, "that Doc doesn't form attachments easily, Killian―"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course I know that ― he's  _my_  bloody friend, isn't he? We've known each other almost since I became Captain of the  _Jolly_!

"And you're enthusiastically encouraging this, just like that?"

He tilted his head sideways, scrutinizing her, before lithely walking over to where she stood. It almost looked like he was dancing. "The truth is that I've been away from you too long, my dear," he purred, "and how better to have you all to myself than to let these two people who want to be together have some time alone. They deserve some relief from tending to us invalids, don't you think?" He kissed the top of her hand seductively, his eyes fixed on hers.

Emma withdrew it quickly from his grasp and stood tall, hands on her hips. "If you really want to reward them, maybe we should all have some relaxation after what we've been through."

"And what would that be, lass?" he hummed.

"A dance ― and a celebration for the crew."

He nodded appreciatively, brows lifted in surprise. "Sounds plausible ― but we will need to be docked at port in order for that to happen."

"It's only a week before we reach Trinidad, correct?" she asked.

"Indeed, master helmsman." His gaze softened. "And in the meantime...how about we continue those piano lessons, aye?"

* * *

_Killian groaned. "Emma, for the last time, it's F sharp, not G sharp!"_

" _And for the last time," she retorted, "you're supposed to be patient with me, Master Pianist." When she attempted to play the scales again for D major, her fingers stumbled and she hit the wrong note._

" _Ugh!" She threw her hands in the air. "And I thought music would come naturally to me."_

_Killian was most certainly hiding a laugh behind that twinkle in his eyes. "Love, the piano requires discipline, concentration, and most of all, practice. You'll most certainly get worse before you get better ― but never fear. Your hands have strength and dexterity." He raised one of them to his face, pretending to inspect it._

_Emma half-smiled, watching as he placed his own hands over hers and attempted the same scale a second time, showing her how to adjust her fingering to achieve a smooth transition from whole note to half note and back again. His touch was assertive but gentle, and the sounds he was eliciting from the beauteous instrument were fluid and harmonic._

_When he finished his demonstration, she had one request. "Play for me?"_

" _For you? Anything," he smiled. "First, however..." He leaned in, his intense stare signifying what he desired from her. Every caress of his lips against hers was warming her skin and her senses, moving her heart towards his ― and she didn't want it to end._

" _Hmm..." he moaned happily, pulling away after kissing her deeply once more. "And now," he announced, winking at her, "you can experience my performance, Miss Swan." Making an elaborate show of cracking his knuckles and stretching his fingers, Killian played a melody Emma had only ever heard when she had went to church as part of the orphanage._

_It was deep and haunting, calling to all those who had ever felt pain and heartache. Every passing note and chord recreated feeling and emotion, the bleeding of the soul in tune to the piano's delicate strings._

" _What is it?" she whispered, her head resting on his right shoulder._

" _'Adagio in G minor' ― they say its true composer remains a mystery to this day." He paused. "It was my mother's favorite."_

" _Oh..." Emma bit her lip. "Well, it's beautiful...I remember the melody from my childhood, but...I've never listened to such a passionate version of it. You make the music come alive ― under your touch, it breathes, Killian."_

_He turned, a look of intent fascination on his face. "You help me breathe ― and believe me, I haven't done so for a long, long time." His thumbs were stroking her cheeks, the piano keys forgotten. "When I lost you in Port Royal, I thought of Milah. I was responsible for her suffering, Emma ― for her death."_

_When she tried to shake her head, he stopped her from protesting by holding her face more closely. "Even though Gold killed her, I was the reason why. If I hadn't come back...she would have lived. For her son. For me, although we would not be together anymore. My selfishness led me astray, lass. If I had truly loved Milah, I would have left her in peace."_

_He swallowed hard, peering down. "Witkins was a horrid man, and given our history, he was sure to ― but I knew that even if I died in Port Royal, it would be more than worth it. Because I would die saving you, but you would live ― and that's all that matters, Emma, that you live. For I am done being thoughtless. You said once that you were done being foolish, but I'm done being selfish. I know I've made mistakes...that I've hurt you, when I only wanted to protect you. But I'm willing to change ― I can change for you, Emma."_

" _Killian...I've already forgiven you." She snuggled into his chest. "All I've ever wanted was to be needed ― to be wanted. And if you want me to stay on, I'll do so for however long you want me here."_

_His breath brushed her mouth. "I will never shut you out again. Let the past begone into the shadows, where it belongs ― and let the promise of glorious future possibilities lighten the present." His voice became pleading. "Don't leave me...please, darling."_

_Before she could seal their words with a kiss she desperately wanted, Constance jumped onto the piano cover from her sleeping spot on the nearby bookshelf, interrupting their moment by stepping over the keys. Her clanky composition made Emma giggle, leaning into Killian's comforting embrace as he nuzzled her hair. She could feel him smile at her laughter._

_It could never be wrong to be with someone who made her so happy._

* * *

"I must say: it's bloody  _brilliant_  to be at the wheel again," Emma sighed, swaying contentedly with the varying motions of the waves. Killian was observing her turns at the helm, his gaze flickering toward the horizon.

"Using my lines, Swan?" He chuckled. "You were right, as always ― it will be good for the men to set foot on neutral land, unlike the disaster at Port Royal, and we need a break from danger. Only four days till we reach Trinidad ― and luckily for us, our newfound friend Belle will be able to translate for us when we get there. Quite the polyglot, she is."

She flashed him a wide smile. "Excellent news, Captain."

He hesitated for a moment, contemplating something. "The only question is...will you save me a dance, Miss Emma?" He bowed with a flourish, grinning up at her.

She looked away, blushing. "I, uh...I don't know how to dance, Killian."

He pretended to appear shocked. "Well then, it seems that is yet another thing I will teach you."

Groaning, Emma settled her face against the helm. "More lessons? There are lessons for everything, it seems." She peered up at him suddenly. "Don't tell me it was you who drew Milah's portrait."

He glanced at his nails nonchalantly. "If you'd like drawing lessons, you only have to ask."

She covered her eyes with her hands. "Is there anything you  _can't_  do?"

"Aye ― sail my ship into a reef!" He nudged her aside to take over steering the wheel.

"We're on open ocean!" she replied irritatedly.

"My, my, Swan...are you jealous?" He was smirking wickedly, eyeing her pointedly.

She shook her head from annoyance. "I'm stupefied by your greatness," she muttered sarcastically. He waited.

"I never got that kind of education..." she finally admitted, "and alright, I am rather envious. You've seen the world, know things that I can only dream of ― and I'm weighed down by my ignorance at every step of the way."

Laying a hand on her shoulder, Killian murmured in her ear, "But that's one of the gifts of life, lass ― knowledge is one thing that is boundless. You can always learn more ― you can never know enough ― and with me willing to teach you, there are no limits."

"So there's still hope?" she mumbled.

He half-smiled, guiding her back to the helm while he gathered her into his arms, the wind rustling his hair and hers. "Yes, there's hope. We found each other, and we won't be separated again. I will take care of you, Emma ― I promised you," he said ardently. "And I always keep my word."

* * *

" _What is your name, girl?" The magistrate had the features of a fierce hound dog ― he was ready to sniff out her weaknesses, to make her cry in front of the court. All because she had stolen a few loaves of bread for her sick family of lost children._

" _Emma Swan, sir," she stammered out, trying to recover her resolve to be strong. Why her ― why did this have to happen to her? She had to be brave. For them. For herself._

" _Well, Emma Swan," the old man drawled, his white wig twitching, "you were caught stealing from Baker Quigley by Officer Sterling. Is this true?"_

_She peeked at the mean policeman who had grabbed her and tossed her into that nasty prison cell, finally staring at the baker apologetically. He nervously shuffled his feet, clearing his throat apprehensively._

" _I did ― but it was to feed―"_

" _Then I proclaim you guilty as charged, Emma Swan." The magistrate waved his hand toward the bailiff. "The usual, I think, will do it ― shipment to the colonies in the New World."_

" _No!" she screamed, struggling as the man removed her from the pulpit and pulled her to the door. "They need me ― my family needs me! You can't take me away ― please!" She was sobbing violently, unable to control her terror anymore. Her friends would all die without her._

" _Wait!" The baker came forward, his hand in the air._

" _Yes?" the magistrate asked in a bored tone of voice._

" _Your Honor, I would like―" he stopped and glanced at Emma, "―to drop the charges."_

" _What? Did I hear you rightly, Mr. Quigley?" He motioned to the clerk, who was scribbling the case notes furiously. "Are you certain you want to do that? The girl will go unpunished if that is so."_

_The baker trembled in his shoes at Officer Sterling's stern glare. "I'm ― I am sure, Your Honor. Please let the girl go ― she didn't mean any harm."_

_When the manacles were taken off her wrists, Emma almost cried again. But her tears were frightened into submission when the magistrate addressed her again._

" _And Emma Swan?"_

_She nodded, biting her lower lip as she always did when she was anxious or shy. Certainly anxious in this moment._

" _If you are caught stealing again, the next time will surely be your last ― and there will be no mercy." He leaned forward. "Next time, you will be sent to the gallows."_

* * *


	22. Chapter 22

The landscape before her was undeniably breathtaking.

Bold, turquoise sea engulfed dark and light greens, whites, and every dazzling color in between. Of course, Emma had heard stories about Trinidad's beauty, but to see it in person was another story. It seemed that every time life disappointed her, nature couldn't help but surprise her...or maybe she was still dwelling too deeply on the events of Port Royal, her mind flitting too quickly from one searing bad memory to the next.

She couldn't quite put her finger on what exactly was bothering her. By all accounts, she should be relieved: Killian was slowly but surely recovering from his bout of melancholy, merrily jesting with his crew and keeping any eye on the  _Jolly_  from the moment the sun rose until it was long gone beneath the blackened sky. He was laughing, he was smiling, he was energetic ― teasing her relentlessly whenever he had an opportunity, never letting her out of his sight. The Captain was himself once more.

_He was shrugging out of her embrace, his skin golden in the morning light that streamed through the open cabin window. Constance stirred briefly, her tail flickering back and forth, before she settled against the sheets comfortably once more, purring amiably. Judging by the size of her abdomen, it would be very soon when the cat went into hiding before she gave birth..._

" _Killian?" she murmured, relaxing her arms and opening her sleepy eyes more widely. A sudden childish, selfish impulse to pull him down and make him stay by her side was clouding her senses, making her restless. No, he was a free spirit, and she couldn't make him stay...though the blurred vision between unconsciousness and consciousness was offering an image of two familiar hands clasped around a piece of parchment..._

_Milah._

" _Go back to sleep, darling," he soothed, smoothly slipping the portrait back into the pocket of his trousers. Running a hand through his hair, he searched for his boots. "I must go and see what our current position is ― Smee's never been that good with navigation."_

Moreover, the voyage had continued to be smooth and uninterrupted by storm or potential enemy. They had encountered no antagonistic vessels, no beasts of the deep: the crew was safe, the ship was whole and intact, and its captain was alive again after rising from despair.

But if everything was bathed in clear sunshine, why then did she feel this restless urge to run from something she could not identify, a dark cloud obscuring what was ahead?

"It looks like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders." Belle silently came forward, leaning by curve of the prow.

"How could you tell?" she drily replied with a pained smile.

Her friend stared at her inquisitively. "Well, I thought you were  _happy_ , now that everything is 'ship-shape' again, as they say...but the tense look on your face says otherwise."

Emma squinted at the golden horizon, relieved when the budding light fanned her face and wind stroked her hair. "Honestly," she sighed, "I have no idea why I feel so―"

"Frustrated?" Belle suggested, nodding at how Emma's knuckles were turning white from her hands' grip on the wooden edge.

"Good word choice," she said flatly. "Now I have to figure out why and how to stop it."

"Hmm..." Her companion bit her lower lip hesitantly, peering at her before dropping her gaze to the ocean. "Have you talked to the Captain about it?"

"No," Emma snapped, struck by a pulse of irritation. What was the matter with her? Why, she had awakened in Killian's arms again this very morning, comforted by his warmth as her period of recovery neared its end. She couldn't still be angry with him...no, that grudge was past, so what was this? He acted the gentleman, took her worries to heart, and was a true friend till now ― and her blood was simmering as if he had slapped her.

Belle tsked, biting her tongue. "This, uh, newly sprung annoyance ― it wouldn't have anything to do with a certain woman from his past, would it?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not jealous of Milah, Belle."

"I never said you were," she countered slyly, grinning widely. Emma only huffed in reply, unamused.

* * *

_Emma rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Haven't you heard this often enough recently?"_

_Leroy shrugged. "As far as I'm concerned, listening to how you squashed Witkins never gets old," he countered with a devilish grin, "'cause it just gets better 'n better with every telling. C'mon, Swan! You took on the master bastard of Port Royal on single-handedly, you faced death ― your exploits deserve to be shared!"_

_Taking a final sip of her wine, she sighed, leaning her head against her hand. "Except I'm the one who has to remember it all."_

" _Hardships―"_

"― _make you stronger," she finished, grimacing and rolling her eyes. "They also can string you up high and dry, leaving you clinging to the past because you're far too wounded to heal. Till you're beyond repair. Witkins is a damned scar, an injury that I relive every night in my dreams ― not some perilous adventure I survived." Peering down at the now faded line on her left palm, Emma cocked her head. "To be honest, it all feels like a lifetime ago ― a bad memory I barely dare to admit is real."_

_Their eyes fixated on her face, Smee and Smarty were gathered on either side of Leroy, tin cups of rum forgotten. Soupy was hovering in the background as well, and in the light of the small bonfire glowing inside the dingy cauldron, Emma realized how much she had missed just being part of something._

_The_ Titan _had been home once upon a time, but life there had been cold isolation, interaction an option and not a necessity. Here, on the_ Jolly _, there was always warmth. Even though nights could be frigid and days could be burning hell, anger and chaos and danger embroiled into the fine lines of every plank of wood and taut line. There were evenings filled with the most surprising companionship, where convicted men transformed from workmates into friends. There was always a burst of light, like the embers of a dying fire in the midst of darkness._

_Pirates were supposed to be ruthless, merciless, and cruel. And no doubt that when the time came for battle, these were exactly that. Hell, she had seen them in action. But at the end of the day, when the sun was gone and the stars alone were left to shine down, criminals were men hardened by injustice and toil and poverty. They were the beggars she had seen on the streets of London, the pickpockets she had encountered during her own heists._

_Soupy could have been the old man she had given her only blanket to one stormy winter night. The widowed father of three children who couldn't find any decent work and had to resort to stealing jewelry could have been Leroy, and Smarty was the orphan boy who never knew any better, who had to rely on himself to survive and fight back against society's endless barbarity. They all had stories, but who took the time to listen to them?_

" _I remember Witkins the first time the Captain saw him ― stinking bastard got what was coming to him," Smee muttered absently, gripping his red hat tightly before placing it comfortingly over his head once more._

_Grumpy, on the other hand, was now stroking his beard as he stared into the firelight, leagues away from the present conversation. As soon as she had recovered sufficiently, her newfound friends had plagued her for an account of the comings and goings in Port Royal ― and more than once, she had retold the tale._

" _And I'm glad that it's over," she finished, rising to her feet and glancing at the receding crescent moon. "Someone once advised me that it is unwise to dwell on the past too much ― it makes living in the present rather unbearable." The locket was between her fingers, its smooth surface rolling over her skin while the chain tugged at her neck._

" _Too true, lassie," Soupy remarked quietly, peering at the wooden floor. He settled by the makeshift fire, gazing at the flickering flames. "Me own kin tossed me out of hearth and home when I was too old and worn to be of use to them anymore, so I swore I'd never look back and wonder what time did to them."_

_Emma raised a brow at that revelation, leaning over the railing to peek at the dark water beneath. "The world commands us to 'forgive and forget,' but forgetting your worst moments?" she scoffed. "Nearly impossible. Mine will stay with me forever, whether I make peace with their perpetrators or not."_

_The lapping of the waves against the hull was the only sound to be heard amid the crackling of ignited wood, the discordant sounds finding an odd synchronicity with the shifting night breeze. The point where the shadows fitted in with the darkness off in the distance was where mysteries were formed ― as a child, she had been fascinated by the transition from light to dark, the secrets hidden by their blend. The lantern at the end of an unlit corridor, the rim of sunrise teasing the top of a hill, the glaze of a far-off sunset creating dusk: these simple illusions drove her to withdraw inside herself and see her childhood again, review her adventures with Diane. It was if a piece of her soul was slowly unfolded each instant, like in a card game where the players gradually show their hands while the stakes rise._

_Shaking her head to dust off those thoughts, Emma recalled that tomorrow they would be docking at Trinidad, that there would be an escape all too soon. She needed to make new memories, to wash the old horrid ones away... Reminiscing about the past had its cruel price._

" _Well, what have I missed?" came Belle's cheery drawl. She sauntered over to the group, pausing by Leroy before approaching Emma. "Uh, why does everyone look so...miserable?"_

" _Milady, we are drinking out our sorrows," Smarty snorted sarcastically, chugging a long, hard swallow from his mug before slamming it down on the crude drinking table. "One thing I've learned to be true about this shoddy existence: your expectations for it to be bloody awful are never disappointed."_

" _Ah," she nodded astutely, grabbing a cup of wine for herself. "But while that may be true for the most part, you've forgotten the most important part."_

" _And what's that, sister?" Grumpy sneered. "Fairy tales where your parents lie to you about the possibility of 'a happy ending'?"_

_Belle winked at Emma before trudging over to the men. In one swift movement, the surface of the table was cleared away, her arm knocking the bottles of alcohol and spirits to the ground. She took a seat upon the now empty platform, chuckling when Smarty glared up at her as he began to gather the miraculously unbroken containers and hold them protectively close to his chest._

" _As I was saying," she continued, "you've forgotten what matters most in life: hope."_

_Everyone in earshot groaned simultaneously at that, but one corner of Emma's mouth was twitching upwards in an evident smirk. One thing she had learned during her convalescence was that Belle had a penchant for stories: the girl loved books more than anything, and it seemed she never had her fill of reading ― or storytelling._

" _Hope is a lie, Miss Belle," Smee sadly interjected, wringing his red cap anxiously._

_Undeterred, she assumed a comfortable sitting position, crossing her legs absent-mindedly. "And why is that, Mr. Smee?" Before he could utter a word, she whispered lowly, "Tell me: when the wind refuses to blow and the ship is still, do you pirates despair that all is lost and wail like mourning women ― or do you curse the skies, tighten the rigging, and pray for stormy weather, even when it appears to be impossible?"_

_He sputtered incoherently, to which she raised a brow knowingly. Again, Emma smiled, settling by Leroy's side. She knew what was coming ― and she was looking forward to it._

" _Well then," she concluded, "let me tell you a story about hope ― and why, combined with faith and love, it is the most powerful weapon of all..."_

" _Does it have magic?"_

" _It's a sappy love story, ain't it?" grumbled Leroy._

" _Just listen, alright?" Clearing her throat, Belle started. "Deep in the heart of France, there once was a man named Pierre, a simple woodcutter who had grown up alone and unloved. An orphan since birth, he traveled from town to town, seeking work and a decent place to live. He had never had a happy day ― and he was without hope that life would ever be more than scraping from day to day for meager food and shelter."_

_No one but Emma noticed that Doc and Killian had ascended from the lower deck, both men at ease as they leaned over the railing by the helm and overheard the crew's conversation._

" _The townsfolk," she emphasized, "were always distrusting of Pierre at first, but he was a hard worker and eventually earned their respect. However, by the time that occurred, he was ready to move on to another location, not satisfied with seeing the same uncaring faces. Finally, he found a secluded village near the mountains, feeling the strangest urge to try and settle there. Soon he was nicknamed the village 'church mouse,' still poor and threadbare, but for all of the little community's hearty welcome, Pierre still felt this breaking emptiness inside―"_

"― _until he met some clingy female and waited on her on bended knee because of love at first sight―"_

" _Actually, no," Emma interrupted, taking over the narrative on Belle's glance of approval. "He was hired by a well-to-do count in the neighborhood to do some carpentry work...and then, he saw her." She smiled to herself, remembering how she had attentively pressed this tale to memory when Belle had first told it to her._

" _A lovely girl, trying to pick a red rose from one of the count's famous rosebushes without pricking her fingers... So Pierre used his hunting knife to remove the thorns from the fairest stem and bud of all. For days, they met whenever he had time to do so ― but it was on the last day of his employment there that Pierre found out the unearthly beauty he had befriended was the daughter of the count himself, Evangeline. Her father was furious of his child's connection with a lowly woodcutter, so he challenged Pierre to confront a mysterious beast that haunted the hills, rumored to guard a cave filled with unimaginable treasure. If he succeeded, the count would even consent to his marriage with Evangeline, if that was what he wished ― but secretly, he wanted Pierre to perish in the attempt. No man had ever come back alive from such a venture."_

" _Indeed," Belle agreed, "but Pierre did climb that mountain, and after receiving some advice from a wise hermit along the way, he faced the monster the count had spoken of. Three riddles he had to answer correctly before it died of its own will, leaving the contents of its cave to the successful young man. He had to use several wagons to bring down all that gold to the valley, but he managed to appear at the count's doorstep, challenge accomplished."_

_The main deck was silent._

_Grumpy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose wearily. "And what happened to the girl ― Evangeline?"_

_Arranging the ends of her sleeves nonchalantly, Emma answered, "Oh, the usual. Some say she and Pierre bought themselves a fine ship and sailed away, while others insist Pierre built a mansion made of rosewood for himself and his sweetheart in the high hills. More, however, believe that Pierre drank some of the monster's blood ― 'blue blood,' the blood of royalty, which the hermit had said was magical ― and that his children with Evangeline were destined to become the King of England and Queen of France because of it."_

_She tilted her head, looking far beyond into the night sky. "But the true ending ― or beginning ― is that hope was sown when Pierre met the first person to ignore his status and see him as a man. Hope grew when he earned her friendship ― and it bloomed when he knew she was of noble blood but she cared less that he was not. Ultimately, hope wilted like a dying rose when their separate paths united...but there was no despair there, because hope only stays as long as it is needed, flying away to seek out others who are lonely and burdened. Hope faded away, but love was alive in its place."_

_Belle bit her lower lip thoughtfully, not adding anything more. The men beside her were brooding, fixated on Emma again as she stood tall and faced the direction of the mainmast, having a strong desire to climb to the crow's nest and wait to see the sunrise. On the_ Challenger _, it was a trial, but on the_ Titan _, it had been one of those few comforting places from where she could imagine any future in the distance when Diane's cries and nightmares had kept her awake, recurring chills and regret wracking both their frames._ _And on the_ Jolly Roger _, it was a reminder of all she had loved and lost ― and all that she wanted to be._

" _Swan!"_

_She pivoted on her heels, peering at Leroy inquiringly._

" _The hope...it was good, but...why not a sailor tale?" he pouted._

_Shrugging her shoulders, Emma shared a laughing smile with Belle. "Ask me again tomorrow night," she teased with a wink, heading to the port side after a backward, longing glance at Killian._

* * *

"You know...when Doc told me about his late wife, I couldn't help but feel this twinge ― a dull ache, if you will. Not particularly resentment or jealousy, but more like...regret. It's like..." Belle bit down on her lower lip, deep in thought.

"I'm not the first woman to know him," she explained, "but, secretly, I wish I were. I'll never have the privilege of seeing him become the man he is today; no, I must unravel his character from beginning to end, like the plot of a story. After all, you cannot truly know a person without understanding his journey and where it has led him ― and it's not easy. In fact, it's one of the most difficult things in the world to do, figuring out another person. But to me, love is...love is layered. Love is a mystery to be uncovered, a puzzle to be solved. It's one of life's greatest adventures ― and I think I'm ready to undertake it, if it finds me."

Emma pursed her lips, trying hard not to smirk. "That sounds like a confession―"

"Oh, no ― no, no, no," Belle hastily interrupted, her cheeks flushing pink. "Doc and I, we're friends ― that's all. But...I wouldn't object to a natural progression of that friendship," she finished shyly, smiling.

Deciding not to tease her further, Emma concentrated instead on what her friend had initially insinuated. "You believe I am  _in love_  with Killian?" she asked, her tone disbelieving. She wasn't prepared for the way her heart literally clenched in her chest at the stabbing scorn in her voice, her immediate denial of feelings she knew existed, even if she couldn't quite define what they were. Vexation sprang at the inward contradiction, and she felt irritated with herself all over again.

"Well, he  _is_  courting you, isn't he?"

She frowned ― that didn't answer her question at all. "He's never named our relationship like that, but...yes, I suppose so. He's... _courting_  me." Pausing, she shakily inquired, "But a pirate, courting? Doesn't courtship usually lead to marriage and all that?"

"Yes..." Belle looked like she was stifling barely concealed laughter. "Emma, are you really so blind? The man's besotted with you, the pair of you are barely apart from each other, and you are telling me to accept that friendship is all you want from Captain Jones?"

Emma groaned, hiding her face in her hands. "I...I just...I don't know. How could I possibly love a man I know so little of? I...I'm not certain of anything anymore!" There were those whispers, though...where her feelings were unrestrained and she listened instead of ignoring them by piling excuses. Whispers that nudged and prodded at the words Belle had said ― how a Swan's heart beat in time with that of a certain pirate's, whether she wanted to acknowledge that or not.

"Because of Milah?"

She sighed again, returned to the present moment. "All these damned complications...I don't even know what I'm so angry about, when I have no cause to be. There's this inexplicable gnawing at the back of my mind, not letting me be at peace. It's as if my thoughts are fighting themselves."

"Hmm..." Belle peered at the far off island. "Perhaps what you need is some time alone?"

"What I need," Emma breathed out after a period of silence, "is some measure of independence again. All these weeks, I've been relying on you...on Doc...and on Killian. And I'm not accustomed to that ― I've always, always been self-reliant, because no one else gave a damn about me. Except for Diane... But she's gone, and even though being on the  _Jolly Roger_  has changed my life, it can't change  _me_. To have all these people surrounding me, actually  _caring_...I'm drawing away, because something inside me refuses to believe that it's genuine and not a wistful dream come true.

"I'm still that dirty little girl who had to dig through waste heaps when no one offered her kitchen scraps to eat or bought the flimsy ribbons she tried to sell for a handful coins. I'm still that willful fool who would defy any authority despite the consequences, and I'm still so reckless and impulsive that I cause trouble for myself more than it chases me. I'm still Emma Swan," she choked out, "and pirate or not, every part of me is screaming out, wanting to be freed."

"Don't you love it here, though?" Belle said softly, caressing her shoulder in a soothing manner. "Is it really a prison for you ― the ship you love...people you love?" she whispered.

"No." Emma shifted her stance, covering her face with her hands. "I'm the prison, Belle ― I'm drowning in myself every time I remember all my mistakes, when the effects of my errors and my faults come back twofold." It was all too much ― the memories, the regrets, all of it. They were caving in on her, threatening to bury her alive.  _She needed..._  Shuddering, she withdrew deeper. "I'm tearing myself apart ― tearing apart what I've built and longed for and earned ― because I'm a bloody idiot."

"You need space and time, Emma," Belle repeated, smiling kindly at her. "You're being too hard on yourself, after what you've been through." She paused, considering. "Do you recall the story about Pierre, the monster he defeated?"

"Hmm...the dreaded 'beastie' was the epitome of greed, wasn't it?"

"Exactly! But what it really was ― well, what  _I_  think it was ― is our greatest weakness personified. Every person has that, and...well, Pierre faced what his was and he came out victorious."

Emma grinned sardonically. "Are you saying I should go to war and battle my fears, so to speak?"

"I'm saying," Belle responded with an encouraging nudge, "that we all reach that point eventually, where we must fight ourselves to find ourselves ― but no one, especially your captain, is forcing you to make any decisions now. We're all standing behind you, supporting you, but there is no pressure to choose, Emma. The roads are ready to be taken, but you don't have to tread upon them immediately. Rest and enjoy the view along the way, perhaps?"

"Just what are you suggesting?"

She raised a brow, looking very mischievous. "When duty calls, adventure beckons."

* * *

_Killian was bloody exhausted. His work was never done these days: from manning the helm around the clock and staying awake continually to consulting charts and maps, checking on the condition of the ship, and making sure the crew was behaving themselves, he felt bereft without Emma._

_Looking on her flaxen hair sweeping over his pillow, her lips curved in a beautiful smile as she dreamed about the unnameable under the covers of his bed, was enough to pull him into slumber along with her. He was motivated to go on and endure every day, because he had something to look forward to, someone to be part of. When she mumbled in her sleep, curls covering her face, he smoothed them away, longing to wrap his arms around her and claim her as his. One glance and his being was thrumming with want and tenderness, need and caring._

_He had never had a reliable helmsman before, and if someone had predicted that that position would be filled by a fiery young lass, he would have called them out and dubbed them liars. And now, irony of ironies, he was sorely missing the one person he never would have dreamed he would need so desperately. But it wasn't just that._

_Captain Killian Jones, pirate and avenger, gentleman and former nobleman, was once again deeply tied to a woman ― and what a hell of a woman at that. After the catastrophe that was Milah, he had never wanted to feel anything for anyone, but the moment that lustrous, golden angel asleep in his bedroom was brought aboard his ship, he should have known better._

_He had attempted to not get close to her, but he had failed. He was trying hard not to love her, but for the second time in his life, his heart had been stolen and given away without his permission or intention. Time mattered little when she was by his side, and though he had never thought himself a patient man, he was willing to wait for her until he died._

_After years of hiding, he was ready. Now, he could admit the truth to the world and, more importantly, to himself._

_He was bloody in love with Emma Swan, and he would never, ever want another. It wasn't often when Providence ― or destiny ― guided you to the other half of your soul, but in this instance, he had been spectacularly fortunate._

_First it had been his mother, torn away in the dark; then Darlie, devoured by illness; finally, Milah, silenced by her own husband. He had lost everyone he loved, the painful repetition dragging its claws over his emotions. Of course he had avoided the possibility of finding that kind of happiness like the plague. What sane person wouldn't, when encountering the same torment over and over again?_

_Then there was Emma, brilliant and resplendent and so bloody understanding. She had convinced the shadow of his boyhood to return to the cold man he'd become ― she had resurrected his humanity and bonded his past with his present, showing him that he no longer had to fight both sides of himself. He was united and whole ― his struggles and his triumphs were now one. And when he formed attachments, they didn't break. The twine encasing his heart was too tight and thick for that._

_Even this love itself was different, just as he had been a different man with Milah. He had sought to prove himself before her, conquer the world just so she would stay with him and see all they could achieve together._

_With Emma...there was nothing to fear. She had taken him in her arms and comforted him when he was most vulnerable; she had called him out on his mistakes, and she had never used him to seek her own gain. She challenged him to be better, to do better, and he hadn't known that he wanted that until now. He knew her, listened to her, believed in her, desired her ― as she did for him. She loved the things he loved, and she had fought for him. She had helped him to finally say good-bye to Milah after years of heartache._

" _A man who doesn't fight for what he wants deserves what he gets" ― but there was no question of that now. He could never let her go, because he wasn't separate from her. They had never gone beyond the boundaries of courtship, sharing caresses and kisses in small amounts because the extent of their feelings would drive them over the edge of innocent romance into unbridled passion. But he wanted more. He had always wanted more, but he didn't want to push her. After all, she was still very young and uncertain, and he wanted her completely. He couldn't ask for what she wouldn't and couldn't give._

_Although he didn't deserve her, he hoped that...one day, she would want the same as he did. That she would take that leap with him: make the vague clear, make burning glances warm touches, bind beating hearts together forever._

_Wherever she went and whatever she would choose, he would follow. Because he recognized what this change was, this wind turning the tides._

_He belonged to her. And he could only pray that she wanted to belong to him too._

_Emma was the final precipice. If he fell, he would never recover from her. But she was a risk he was willing to take._

* * *

"Listen up, mates!"

The crew stood at attention, their bodies twitching from excitement on reaching land. And Trinidad was no ordinary destination.

"Mr. Smee here will distribute your pay before you disembark," Killian continued, "and I don't think I need to remind you that this is Spanish territory we're entering. Keep your mouths shut, your pockets closed, and you'll live. As with all lands of great beauty, Trinidad is all the more deadly for it. I do not want to hear tales of foolishness and then be required to come rescue you. Do I make myself clear?"

"Aye, aye, Captain!" they intoned, including a smirking Belle and Emma. Reunited with her trusty blade, the latter was positively gleeful at the prospect of exploring the wondrous island that was to be the  _Jolly_ 's resting place for nearly a month. Both girls had agreed that it wouldn't do to look like pirates when they set foot on terrain soon to be occupied by quite a few of them, so they were dressed to style like elegant females of the day ― with a few exceptions.

Her favorite boots on and a pistol tucked discreetly under the belt that hugged her hips, Emma had wondered extensively how the skirt would manage to not snag on the tip of her sword...until Belle had suggested slinging it, scabbard and all, across her back. It actually felt safer there, easily within reach and out of her legs' way, but it had been wise to tie her hair into a bun beforehand.

The gown she had chosen to wear, however, was quite a garment in itself. Overlapping deep reds, blues, and black contrasted to present an appealing, stylish dress that complemented her figure  _and_  her need for protection. Underneath a few deliberately padded areas were carefully hidden pockets purposefully made for a thoughtful lady, which Emma had chosen for keeping particular items of value ― one of which was an unsealed letter. Thanks to her attire's design, the rest were undetectable to the naked eye.

On the other hand, her friend was sporting a simple golden frock with white accents, a dagger at her waist like on her pirate outfit. With their hair tied behind their backs and their hands nervously fingering their weapons, they looked like they were on the warpath rather than on leave.

"Well, that's my call," she muttered, stepping gingerly around several crew members until she had found the rapidly forming line leading to the gangplank and a very flustered Smee. Daring to peek at Killian, she immediately knew he was searching for her among the cluster of men on deck, his intent blue eyes peering everywhere. Getting his approval to leave the  _Jolly_  and venture in Trinidad on her own with Belle was going to be bloody difficult.

However, she focused on the drifting scent of spices and beach sand, closing her eyes and relaxing her anxious breathing until they snapped open to behold a pleased Mr. Smee. Killian would certainly notice her whereabouts now.

"Good morning, Miss Emma," he began politely. "The Cap'tn wanted me to give you this: your pay since you took on the post of the helmsman."

A substantial pouch, bulging slightly from the coins within, was pressed onto her palm, and she couldn't help the grin that crossed her lips. She would be able to send all that what needed and save some coins for necessary purchases. Well, many coins, if the volume of the pouch was any indication.

"What a splendid way to start the day ― viewing those lovely lips form that winsome smile. Love, if you are pleased, I am pleased. Stunning attire, by the way."  _Oh dear...here we go._

She turned, glancing up at him warily. He appeared to be very jovial ― happy, if that tremulous, wide smirk on his face was genuine ― and he was almost bouncing on the heels of his feet, his gaze bright and scintillating. Biting her lower lip, she tried to ignore the way he was watching her. As Belle had foreseen, the instant she did so, Killian's fervid stare transformed into one of concern, clouding his mood as well. He gently drew her to the side, away from the departing sailors, and eyed her from head to toe while she tucked the money into her adjoining leather satchel.

"What's wrong, Emma?" he murmured, his hands already enfolding hers. "Is it the money? I counted it out myself, wanted it to be fair―"

"Killian..." She half-smiled, shaking her head gently. "Nothing is wrong with my pay ― in fact, it's very generous, and I wanted to thank you―"

"Don't." He came closer, his nose brushing hers. "The last thing I want from you is your gratitude. You earned every cent."

She cleared her throat, wondering how a brief discussion about finances had become almost intimate, his head resting against hers. Another touch and he would be embracing her.

"Speaking of what I've earned..." Emma concentrated on what she had explained to Belle, the pull that kept tugging at her core and had persuaded her to do this. "I want to go with the rest of crew...offshore."

"'Course, darling ― let me get all in order here, and then we'll make the journey," he replied enthusiastically.

Taking a deep breath, she pursed her lips. "Ahem...I meant...myself and Belle. We're going... together. Alone."

His answer was evident in how his expression darkened, stormy and filled with hurt as her response sank in. "Oh? And why is that? Why her, and not me?" he growled, now the proud pirate captain. Was that jealousy she saw flickering there?

"Well, she's my friend ― can I not go on  _my_  shore leave with whoever  _I_ choose?"

"And you don't choose me," he said raggedly, gritting his teeth. "Emma, what the hell is going on in that mind of yours? Haven't I proven time and time again that I can be trusted?" His voice was a whisper. "Aren't we still friends? If I recall, you gave me your forgiveness, and that means another chance―"

"You have it." She cocked her head to the side. "But I think being apart for a while will do us both some good..." When he visibly withered under this statement, morose and dejected, she lifted his chin with her fingers. "Killian...you know it's true. Port Royal took its toll on both of us, and we need to recuperate."

"Agreed ― but we should do so  _together_ ," he countered fiercely. His tone was huskily intense. "I almost lost you to Witkins, you nearly died in my cabin, and you want us now to be  _apart_?" Killian was grasping her upper arms firmly, holding on to her as if he feared she would fly away from him.

Fiddling with the loose decorative strands flying from the waistline of her dress, Emma grabbed at her resolve. She could not relent and give this idea up, not when she really needed this solitude to ponder things through and make peace with herself. There was too much boiling inside, like an active volcano about to erupt.

"I  _have_  to do this ― for me, and for you," she pleaded. Leaning forward, she kissed his cheek gently, not caring if all his men saw the gesture. "I will return. Killian, please..."

He was holding her face, determined and steadfast. "Will I see you tonight? Doc did say..."

"Doc said I was healthy enough to go." She paused, reaching underneath to pull Diane's locket up and over her head and then deftly slipping it around Killian's neck. "I'll be back for this ― so stay strong...and wait for me?"

He seemed partially relieved, but his features were still hard and unyielding. "Aye ― but be back by sundown."

Nodding, Emma peeked at Belle before she moved as to leave, only to find herself entangled again in Killian's arms. His kiss was questioning and very tender, and she found herself clinging to him despite herself. It wasn't that she wanted to leave him behind ― but how to tell him that she was lost in a mire of doubts and feelings, and she desperately wanted to find herself again? This was an after-effect of her trials, of their tribulations. It was best for both of them if she took the last step and finally healed on her own ― mind and spirit as well.

"I'll be home tonight," she promised, "so take care of the locket for me."

"I will." He was reluctant to release her, but when she caressed his cheek gently, he did. "Be careful, dearest, or Trinidad will have a war on its hands when I come to fight for you."

She chuckled. "I'll be fine ― I have my sword at my back and your strength always by my side."

Pressing his lips against her forehead, he guided her down the ramp, walking her to the bottom. When he ascended, she had the oddest urge to run back, to declare him her anchor.  _To forgive and forget._

But she couldn't forget... Wasn't that the whole point, that the vacuum in nature would help unravel that raucous crowd of thoughts present even in her dreams?

* * *

When Belle and she took a stand by the path, Emma gazed back at Killian, torn between what her head and her heart were clamoring. He was respecting her wishes, as much as he deemed them foolish, and she loved him all the more for it―

God, no.  _No_. Uncertainty passed by her like a breeze, gone in the haze of her confusion.

Inhaling sharply, she motioned to her friend, staring unflinchingly at the greenery and civilization up ahead.

 _Welcome to Trinidad_ , both seemed to say.

_Well, it's about bloody time._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: That fairy tale Belle and Emma told to the crew? I tweaked it a bit, but it's a real story I read many times as a child.


	23. Chapter 23

" _Do you want my porridge?" The timid voice had an acute strength, which was hidden by a frail form and soft features. If she hadn't been looking directly at him, Emma never would have guessed that the speaker wasn't a girl._

_She stared at him suspiciously. "Why would you give me your only meal? You know they won't give you anything else, no matter how well you beg."_

_He must have been only a few years older than her, bright-eyed and scruffy, shyly glancing at her and biting his lower lip apprehensively._

" _You look hungry," he excused, "and I know I don't. I thought...maybe you would like it. 'Sides, I don't care about that lot ― they can keep their lousy grub. Breakfast is the best...so go on...take it."_

_After several seconds had passed, the nameless boy was still standing there. He was holding out his bowl to her as if it were one of the three precious gifts offered by the Three Wise Men to the infant Jesus. As if he were a supplicant presenting a sacrifice._

_Of course she wanted to refuse his offer._

_The orphanage had never given her anything worthwhile ― her tattered clothes and gaunt appearance testified to that. Ever since she had been dropped by the side of the street, left in a woolen blanket with only the recurring memory of her given Christian name, she had loathed to trust anyone ― every time she had, giving in, she had been hurt. Despite having grown up in the soiled nursery room, slept in the all too familiar musty beds shared between twenty children per room, and shared her mealtimes, playtimes, and lesson times with more or less the same group of orphans year after year, Emma Swan had resigned herself to the obvious fact that she wasn't able to find any comfort in the miserable life around her._

_Her daily encounters with other children had been no better. She was constantly taunted and derided for her defensive habits, her interest in books, and her solitary daydreaming. Hah, she had been dreaming for years of her birth parents' remorseful and triumphant return to take her away, to take her home. It was her childhood hope, her constant wish, her one desire. But reality had taught her differently, and from the looks of it, she was in "Neverland," where dreams_ never _came true. Like the overseers of the orphanage frequently reiterated, this was a harsh world, full of sorrow and punishment. And no one had been willing to come and give her a home ― a_ real _home ― for the six years she had already been here._

_Then why would anyone be willing to give her their friendship either?_

_Scrutinizing the newcomer, Emma wrinkled her nose in a frown before crossing her arms over her chest. "And you chose me over everyone else?"_

_He shook his head in annoyance, scowling in turn. "I saw the way they pick on you ― it's Emma Swan, isn't it? That other day, by the pantry ― I was hiding behind one of the apple barrels while they were..." His voice trailed off and he looked down, clearly embarrassed and ashamed. But was it because he had witnessed her beating at their hands, or that he had done nothing to stop it?_

_Like she usually did when anyone cared to ask her about her sufferings, she closed down and felt that tug to walk away, to leave the questions and answers behind. "They're just a bunch of annoying brats," she mustered calmly with an attempt at bravado, trying to hide how her limbs were shaking at the memory of that afternoon. Her arms still carried the bruises._

" _I'm sorry...I'm a weakling, and I know it." When he smiled sadly, lifting the bowl up again, this time she had decided what to do. Cupping it tentatively between her hands, her stomach rumbled quietly in response to the wafting aroma of more food._

_Turning, she began to walk away, only to be stopped by her benefactor. "Wait... I have something else." He dug his hands into his pockets, grimacing until he found what he was searching for. "Aha! What is porridge without...brown sugar?"_

_Three careful square lumps rested on the palm of his hand, his toothy grin causing dimples to form on his cheeks. Under her questioning gaze, he shrugged apologetically, though mischief was in his eyes. "Hey, they never even saw me in the cellar!"_

_Laughter broke out, uninhibited and genuine, and it wasn't until after it had ceased that Emma realized she had been the one chuckling and giggling. Suddenly, there weren't any dark clouds above her head anymore ― no, there was light streaking through the dirty orphanage window, but it was shining down on them, and that was all that mattered._

_Minutes later, when they were sitting down on rickety chairs and she was gobbling hurriedly the remnants of the boy's supper, her curiosity was rekindled. "So, master thief," she said, wiping her mouth with her sole handkerchief, "do you have a name? You know mine, so how 'bout a fair trade?"_

_The answering smile on his freckled face was worth the question. "I'm August ― August W. Booth," he replied proudly._

_She shook his outstretched hand, amused by his serious stance. "Well, August W. Booth," she returned grandly in her best formal tone, "it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."_

_Later on, when it was lights' out and there was only moonlight left from the day's events, shining in on the sheets of her current bed, she grinned to herself as she shifted to and fro to find a comfortable sleeping position._

_On second thought, perhaps she had been wrong._

_Perhaps...she had finally found a friend._

* * *

Her leather sack was swinging dejectedly from side to side, slung high on her other shoulder across from her sword, but her fingers kept searching for the locket, a wave of disappointment reverberating from her touch when she was reminded once again that it was simply not there. She had entrusted it to Killian, and until the day was done, it was gone, for better or for worse.

Damn her nerves.

"You're thinking of him, aren't you?" Belle was peering at her with concern as they trudged along the beaten path leading to the city before them. Trinidad certainly had a beating heart, pulsing with rhythmic energy and light and expectancy. Much like the way she viewed Killian ― her beacon in the dark of night.

"No," she denied quickly, keeping her eyes on the ground. It was easy to say the lie, but her mind was already picturing wind-swept hair and scintillating ocean, his gaze set on her face as she took a hand at the helm. The feeling was embedded too deeply into her very core, marking her. Burning her.  _She missed him..._

"Emma..." Belle was by her side in an instant, smiling at her reassuringly. "Today is going to be a bright memory, because we are going to make ourselves a solemn promise." She shook a finger in front of her nose. "A vow."

A grin twitched at the corners of her mouth ― adventure was around the corner, just waiting for her to ease by the bend and step into the light. "What kind of vow?" she asked, biting her lower lip.

"A vow to be ourselves ― to recall that we are who we are alone  _and_  together. That we will forget the men for once and concentrate on us ― that we will find adventure, grab it by the horns, and enjoy the ride until it ends with the breaking of the sunset, foregoing worry, doubt, pain, and fear. Are you game for this, Emma Swan? To really see Trinidad, without burdens or regrets, for one short day?"

* * *

"Careful now, Captain, or I'll have to diagnose you with what we physicians refer to as 'being lovestruck,'" Doc teased as he watched the Captain pace across the main deck, his eyes fixated on the point where the increasing shrubbery concealed the rest of the path.

Each passing moment, Killian was becoming even more restless, his leather coat whipping about his shins every time he turned, Emma's golden trinket entangling with his pendants and silver cross. This was the first time since Port Royal that his lass was not by his side or within his reach ― and he didn't like it one bloody bit. Annoyance and worry bristled within, and he cursed under his breath, glancing over the main deck to see that he and the doctor were the last aboard. A treacherous memory flitted through his mind, a flash of gold hair and loving smile, and his resolve to stay behind broke.

"Sod it to hell ― I'm going after her," he announced vehemently, the soles of his boots pounding against wood as he hurried to the gangplank.

"And what about your promise to Emma? What about your ship?" his friend called out, a brow raised questioningly. Ignoring the second question, Killian snorted at the disappointment and displeasure written across the doctor's expression.

"I want her to be safe ― isn't that more important than some absurd fancy to fly through the town without me?"

Doc pursed his lips in a set grimace. "Speaking as an unbiased outside party, it seems that it's more her company you're concerned about than her safety."

He growled lowly in reply, not prepared to stand for any cheek from him at this point. "And what does it matter, Doc, if I'm concerned for both? After all, Swan is my helmsman and I have the right to scrutinize any member of my crew that I wish―"

"Please, don't hide behind that incredible excuse," he scoffed. "I've known Emma as long as you have, Captain ― I've seen the way you look at her, and I've been forced to hear how  _much_  you  _long_  for her. I'll admit that Emma has come to me for advice concerning you more than once, but that was nothing in comparison to how you rant and rave about your lack of success with her and, most of all, your deflated ego." Doc was livid, glaring at Killian. "Come to your senses and see that you're not the only human being living here, that I'm neither your conscience nor your damn tool. I'm a part of the crew as well, Miss French is a guest―"

"Doc," Killian said warningly, but without malice or contempt. Inwardly, his mind keep repeating over and over again that he deserved this reproval...that it was long overdue.

"No, for once you listen to  _me_!" he returned passionately. "Once, a long while ago, you told me you were glad I was your friend ― and I'll wager you told Emma the same rubbish. So before you jump on your high horse and act like she has wronged you, have some damn compassion and understand what she is going through, what I'm going through ― what we all went through because your guilt and selfishness overcame your ability to reason!"

His voice cracked during his outburst, his tone softening momentarily. "Do you know what it cost me to see Emma tormenting herself over your rejection of her, to witness another person I've come to cherish on the brink of death because she felt she had no will to live? And all because of you _― because of you, she was bloody starving herself!_  Then you have the nerve to complain to me that Belle is taking Emma's attention away from you, when it was thanks to her helping me that I was able to save Emma and you both. And where's your gratitude? Foolish man, you call us your friends ― so start acting like you care and stop this nonsense!"

For the first time in a long time, Killian didn't feel like a captain, a pirate, or a gentleman. Instead, he felt he was a simple-minded child being scolded by his guardian, reminded of his failures and sins in an attempt to make the incorrigible in him stand corrected. As his anger and jealousy died down into a sheepish stance, he could only feel a deep sense of shame and remorse, guilt gnawing at him again but not in a deprecating way...and he willingly submitted to it, wanting more than ever to gain Emma's true forgiveness, not just the words she had uttered during a warm embrace.

"I know," he uttered contritely. "Doc...I know, alright?  _I know_. And there aren't enough words or ways for me to express how truly sorry I am about all that has come to pass." He rubbed his face wearily with his hands, sighing deeply. "I never meant to take advantage of your comradeship ― trust me, I've learned since Milah. And I want you to know...that I appreciate beyond comprehension how hard you fought for Emma when I couldn't. When I...didn't."

Doc was staring at him bemusedly, his mouth open in shock. "Did I say something wrong again?" Killian asked wryly, a reluctant half-smile tugging his lips upward.

"You...you said  _her_  name. Aloud. Without wailing or rage," he replied, an awestruck tone creeping into his words.

The Captain shrugged half-heartedly. "Milah is with my past, far from my reach or my touch. Finally, I can move on, move forward. I've found a new purpose for living," he murmured, warmth spreading throughout his limbs. Somewhere, between walls and on cobblestone streets was a certain young woman, a fierce pirate who had unwittingly conquered him until he could barely breathe without her. And Doc was right ― he  _was_  longing for her, praying for her to return to him. He didn't want to lose her, even though he bloody deserved that too. Why would anyone in their sane mind want to be with him after everything he had done and failed to do?

"Because she cares for you as well," the doctor answered simply, his gaze glinting with amusement and a hint of relief.  _Damn it, he must have spoken that last bit aloud._

He chuckled humorlessly. "Emma Swan cares about an irredeemable bastard like me?"

Doc smirked widely, used to his patterns of self-doubt and denial. "That she does, though I can't imagine why. You may not believe it, Captain, but I diagnose my patients rather well," he stated, patting him on the back amicably, "and you needed that tongue-lashing of mine, as terrible as it was. No hard feelings, eh?"

Shaking his head at his friend's antics, Killian tried to smile but failed.

"Ah," the doctor sighed, "cheer up, old friend. Instead of mooning over your lady fair, let us take advantage of her absence to realize that plan you spoke of."

The Captain gave him a sharp look, a familiar ambitious gleam entering his eyes. Sorrow was forgotten as his mind began to plot. "Aye," he agreed, a devilish grin emerging. "We have business in town to take care of."

* * *

For what must have been the twentieth time in a row, Emma cursed when the pack and scabbard thumped mercilessly against the still sore skin on her back.

"Why on earth did you take either if you're not up to carrying them?" Belle reprimanded, offering again to take part of her burden from her. Emma only waved her attempts away, muttering absentmindedly to herself as she pushed on toward the crowded square. She could take care of herself ― she always had.

The market was bustling, vendors everywhere crying out the excellence of their wares to passersby. However, unlike in Tortuga and Port Royal, there was no tension, chaos, disrepute, or rigid façade. Nothing was concealed, and in each ray of light, colors came out to play, tinkling amid the diverse spectacle before her. Emma had never seen daily life as a marvel, but here, it was quite a display. She nearly expected the natives to burst into song and dance at any second, their vibrant jargon like the language of birds.

"Come," Belle gestured as they approached an older woman selling fine cloth. "If you see anything you like, I'll translate."

Red silk, green velvet...there was even a pure feather white satin with fine twirls of gold thread, spirals and flourishes embroidered into the design in the shapes of leaves and flowers. Emma fingered it wistfully, wondering what splendid gown it could become. Diane would have certainly squealed over the possibilities, her eyes shining from excitement and admiration...

Biting back a sigh full of yearning, she glanced at Belle, who nodded understandingly before starting to bargain with the vendor in fluent Spanish. Listening in amazement, she could only helplessly watch as her friend argued over not just one roll of cloth, pointing out several more as her confidence increased and the seller's will weakened. Whatever Belle had said to the woman must have worked, for she eventually wrung her hands in the air in defeat and hastened to delicately cut several yards of the white, red, green, and some soft deep blue linen before wrapping each between soft parchment.

Handing the package to Emma with a distinguished flourish, Belle smiled broadly before whispering hurriedly into her ear, "She wants five gold pieces for the lot."

"Only five?" she replied warily, surprised at the cost. The silk alone was worth at least twenty, or so it appeared.

Belle rolled her eyes, pursing her lips in an exasperated manner. "Don't be deceived, Emma ― she has clearly been storing last year's yield and overpricing it in an attempt to make a profit on unsuspecting buyers."

Carefully handing the sputtering and glaring dark-skinned woman in question her pay, Emma gently placed her purchase inside her pack and shouldered it once more, unable to stop grinning as they walked away, gliding between the web of intermingling folk weaving their paths along the edge of the street. "And this from one of the most compassionate people I've ever met."

Her friend smirked, shaking her head. "I'll always give every person I meet a chance, but that doesn't mean I won't fight tooth and nail against anyone who willingly tries to hurt me or those I love."

There that word was again:  _love_. Breathing it in and dispelling all fear as she had promised, Emma mumbled, "It was just―"

"Cheating? Exactly. Leave it to a harmless looking crone to try and take advantage of two innocent girls!"

She raised a brow at that. "We are  _pirates_."

Belle snorted, waving away the excuse. "But even pirates have a code of honor," she huffed, her horrified tone making Emma burst into laughter while she confidently approached another vendor.

Yes, this excursion was going to be quite gratifying.

* * *

_Emma leapt out of bed, eager for once to start the day. She had only met August four months ago, but it felt like she had known him forever._

_He was like the brother she had never had or known she had wanted: they sat together during every meal, he tutored her in the lessons she didn't understand, she taught him how to climb a tree without getting scrapes, he had demonstrated how he mastered the art of pickpocketing, she had told him all the bedtime stories she loved. He was three years older than her, they both had been abandoned when they were very young, and they both wanted a home more than anything else. The only difference was that August had faint memories of his father, while Emma had none at all of her parents._

_Despite the negative environment of the residence they despised, it was he who introduced her to the world of books, encouraging her to learn beyond the confines of the orphanage's meager schoolroom ― and it was she who defended him against the vindictive jeers of the older boys who wanted him to smoke tobacco. They called themselves siblings in spirit: they stood as one against the wind of the world, determined not to be pushed about by the ways it blew ― to always be true to themselves and never falter. She was only six years old ― well, near seven ― and she had always felt so old. With him by her side, she didn't have to grow up, staying young and childish to defy time itself._

_Each morning, midday, afternoon, and evening was an adventure. Each passing moment, Emma savored the few scraps of childhood remaining to her, no longer fixated by the morose thought of being perpetually unloved. After all, she was a sister now ― she had a responsibility to take care of August first before herself._

_When she descended down the stairs to breakfast, searching for August's friendly face, there were sour looks abounding, from the directors of the orphanage pouring small amounts of tacky gruel into bowls held by trepid hands to a motley gathering of the foulest adolescents in the place. One of the latter, a particularly nasty girl named Sally, sneered at Emma. "Where's your dirty beau now?"_

Don't you dare give into their abuse ― hit first and ask questions later _, came August's resounding advice. Sniffling, she crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. "You know, Sally, there's something on your face."_

_Reveling in the snickers of her companions, the older girl laughed darkly. "Oh? And what's that?" she drawled, taking the bait._

_The satisfied smirk that crossed Emma's lips was a sure sign of the biting retort to come, but she had come to understand that though these uncouth ruffians had quick fists, their minds had quite rusty gears. She leaned forward and remarked, "I can't rightly tell, but it looks as if it's turned green ― but don't worry. It's a nice contrast to the soot there, if I do say so."_

_Sally alone turned a shade of purple as her so-called friends chortled in spite of themselves. Before her enemy could answer back, Emma had strode off to the opposite side of the room, taking a seat by the long table they always used for mealtime. Hastily grabbing two rolls ― one for herself and one for August when he'd come ― she began to spread some butter and marmalade on her own, growing more and more impatient. He should have been here by now...where the hell was he?_

_Breakfast came and went, and still no sign of August. Now she was certainly worried._

_Hiding her anxiety behind a mask of indifference like her brother had taught her, Emma cautiously accosted her superiors. If in name only, she reminded herself._

" _Please, sirs," she mumbled, a sense of dread filling her when she saw their hate-driven, disgusted expressions, "I'm looking for August ― August W. Booth."_

_One of the men, clearly recognizing her, scoffed derisively. "Booth is nothing to you, Swan."_

_She shook her head desperately. "No, please ― he's my brother." When her plea was met with stony silence, she continued. "Please, sir ― please, tell me where he is."_

_The older woman who served as the children's main teacher eyed Emma carefully. "Booth, you say, child? His fate is no longer our concern ― he left this morning."_

_Her stomach twisted into tight knots, and she believed she would purge it of its contents any second. "Left?" she whispered hoarsely. No, he wouldn't run away without saying good-bye ― not August. He wouldn't leave without coming back for her, without taking her along. He of all people wouldn't abandon her ― not him. He was her best friend. He was the brother of her heart._

_The morning bell rang loudly, and the clambering of many feet upon the floor distracted Emma from her rampant reasoning. Everything was a puzzle, but one thing was clear: she was alone._

_She had to rebel._

_Without thinking twice, she was running after the teacher, pulling on her skirt more than once to get her attention. "What do you mean, he left? Where did he go? Where is he? Where is he?"_

_She roughly yanked the hem of her skirt from Emma's grasp, not even blinking when she tumbled to the floor and fell flat on her face. By now, tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she painfully realized she was crying._

" _You foolish girl," the woman lashed out, "he was taken from our establishment ― adopted." As Emma continued to weep, her gaze softened a little, and her tone became pitying. "A man claiming to be his birth father came and said August was his son, and he had the documents to prove it. As soon as his request was approved by Mr. Greensbury, he left, taking the boy with him. So you see, child ― he belongs to another family now. He's gone, and he's not coming back."_

_The heels of her shoes were the last Emma viewed of her before her vision was entirely obscured and blurry. On one hand, she was pleased that August had been reunited with his father...but on the other hand, she was stricken with grief, anguish, and a startling feeling of betrayal. Her August was loyal, loving ― he would have at least said good-bye. But no...he was gone. In the midst of his joy at being with someone who loved him, he had forgotten all about her, the one who had believed in him first. He hadn't suggested she could accompany him to his new life or persuaded his father to meet her._

_No...he had done the one thing he had sworn he'd never do: he had abandoned her ― deserted her. Left her, lonely and aching and heartbroken._

_Because he was a stupid boy who had lied to her. He was a liar, through and through._

_The sudden sound of Sally's oily voice contributed more to her pain. "Looks like you just got dumped, Swan," she snarled cruelly before following her gang._

_But Emma stayed on the floor, curling into a ball as she sobbed. She wanted nothing more to disappear, to be invisible...her dreams had run away and they were no more._

_When one of the caretakers pulled her from her spot and started to carry her upstairs ― no doubt to have the miserable physician on-call take a look at her ― Emma bit back whimpers and gasps. As her cries died away, something else did too._

_For her, childhood was gone, somewhere far off where her best friend was. She had once thought it was thanks to August that she could still be a child, but she had been so wrong._

_Thanks to him, she was now an adult, and once again, she would have to make her stand against the wind by herself._

* * *

Her fingertips trailed over the fine jewelry, admiring the way the gems glinted in the sun. She had never been one to enjoy wearing necklaces and bracelets ― she had always noticed their value first before their earthly beauty ― but today, she was seeing them in a new light. While Belle was off sampling exotic spices and herbs from a rather awestruck old man, Emma had been entranced by the reflecting shapes dancing from afar in the passing breeze, recalling intertwined pendants and borrowed gold. The tinkling of soft metal and fine stones had clashed until she was swept over to the jeweler himself, who had taken the quieter path and decided to let his wares speak for themselves.

"Looking for something particular, milady?" he inquired gently, smiling when she eyed a daring ruby-inlaid necklace with fascination.

Emma grinned wryly. "Not unless you carry something decidedly not feminine in nature," she replied, tracing the outline of two sapphire earrings.

"Ah," he noted astutely, "you search for a rarity." Taking that answer as a refusal, she was prepared to turn from the treasure-filled stall, only to be surprised by two hands holding out a rosewood chest to her. "Open it," he ordered, nodding to emphasize that it was alright.

Glancing between the man and the proffered woodwork, she carefully placed her hands on the lid, gaping when she saw what was protected within.

His proud smile widened. "It's some of my best work ― and it's only seen by my very best customers."

She squinted at him, trying to decipher his meaning. "You've never met me before," she countered, confused.

"Anyone who appreciates my work like you do, with such a measured, calculating gaze and beautiful smile, is sure to become one."

* * *

_Diane was a true beauty and a true lady: she deserved to be adorned with fine cloths and glittering jewels. She deserved to be as happy as she was now ― she deserved to be so loved._

_Emma repeatedly told herself this, but that fact wasn't keeping a strong stab of jealousy at bay. Or maybe it was envy ― she never could tell the difference between the two._

" _Emma, look at what he gave me!" Diane squealed one afternoon, ignoring the answering sadness in her friend's eyes. She should have been helping Emma to prepare the daily rations for the men, but she was so absorbed by her startling first romance that chores were left unfinished and tasks forgotten, all because of a pair of staring eyes and an eloquent mouth._

" _Frankly," she muttered under her breath, "I couldn't care less." She mopped the upper main deck furiously, glancing once at the ring now resting on the forefinger of Diane's left hand._

_Precious gold and silver, metals entwined while tiny diamonds and rubies lined the rim of the circular band. It was priceless, artistic, perfect craftsmanship ― and Emma despised it. That smug bastard and his obsession with noblesse oblige..._

_The abundance of adoration, hope, and love etched across her best friend's face as she gazed at the treasured gift symbolic of her new relationship was downright nauseating, a gigantic burst of emotion ― and all for a man who was cheeky, insufferable, and a terrible cockscomb if she ever saw one. For the hundredth time, what the hell did Diane see in him?_

_On starlit nights, when Emma was free to gaze up at the constellations and practice her navigation skills, she could distinguish the two lovers' outlines from afar, shining dimly in the dark. It was their embrace, tender and gentle and meaningful, that persuaded her otherwise ― that good intentions were real, that true love was no myth. Then her opinions transformed, the whole of her brimming with satisfaction and pride at Diane's find and believing unconditionally that love never died. That moment of truth, of blind faith..._

" _Have dinner with us tonight."_

_Emma blinked, certain she had missed something. "What?"_

_Diane smiled warmly, clasping her hands with her own. "Join us! He really wants to meet you...well, talk to you, since he's never had an opportunity to, not really..." she explained quickly, "and I'd be thrilled if you would. Please, Emma ― please say you will?"_

_She tilted her head sideways. "Why?"_

" _Because I want you there beside me," she replied, sounding utterly sincere. And there it was, in her eyes as well ― genuine want supporting her words._

_Emma wondered how months of resentment and annoyance could be washed away in an instant by the sudden rain of inexplicable joy that was falling upon her...but that could stay a mystery unsolved. She only knew it had happened, and she was not one to refuse her friend's behest._

_A soft, shy grin and heartbeat later, she conceded. "Alright...I will."_

* * *

As Emma stood before the white shoreline, palm and coconut trees spread across miles of bleached sand, she closed her eyes and felt the branches bend with the warm ocean breeze, the vast green colors stirring something within her. Scores of tropical birds were singing, squawking, and screeching, animal cries signaling the call of the jungle within dense shrubbery. To some, this would be hell. For her, it was heaven. The  _Jolly_  had carried her here, and they had made it for the dry season.

Open land and sky, both offset by the glorious, tempestuous sea and dressed in the patterns of nature's wardrobe. The wind echoing, lush scenery proudly stating that it was free no matter who dared to called themselves its master. Trinidad might be, as Doc dubbed it, "the island of birds," but it seemed more appropriate to call it the island of dreams. Everywhere she turned, every time she opened her eyes, there was beauty, unadulterated and raw and almost ethereal. Looking at this place, it was indeed possible to fall hopelessly in love with the earth.

Nevertheless, it had taken a lot of cajoling and one-sided persuasion to get Belle to finally leave the marketplace, but Emma had finally managed to drag her away from the tempting outcries of the varied sellers and pull her toward their quieter destination: the natural sights of the island. Of course, the girl had first insisted on buying  _pelau_ , a hot dish of rice and vegetables that left their tongues burning and craving, and some strange leafy stew called  _callaloo_  to tide over their growing hunger ― but that had passed.

As always, Emma had gone on ahead, eager to secure a moment where she could simply collapse on the ground and rest. Belle was off examining the wildlife, intent on sketching some of the botany and animals in the new journal she had bought so she could show them to Doc. She chuckled ― those two were now as thick as thieves for all of their initial distrust.

Exhaustion was seeping through the marrow of her bones, and she could  _feel_  it. Too much had happened too soon, and she was overwhelmed. So after unceremoniously tossing her sword, pistol, and pack to the side, she threw herself underneath the shade of a rather large palm tree, settling against the warm sand like it was a cozy blanket, and directed her sight to the azure blue overhead. Having gleaned information from friendly natives, she heard Trinidad was home to dazzling waterfalls, deep grottoes, and marvelous beaches like this one ― and she wanted to explore each of them.

_With Killian..._

Images fluttered in her mind's eye, pictures of her dashing pirate captain drawing her over bushes and through trees, leading her to the water's path. Her body betrayed her, daring to imagine what Killian would look like with rivulets cascading down his bare shoulders and chest under a waterfall... Then her eyes snapped open, and she knew she was quite red in the face. But the heat didn't stop, and then there was a vision of herself joining a dream-like Killian underneath the waterfall, dressed in only her slip, her hands tracing his contours...

She groaned, covering her face with said hands. This was exactly why she needed to be away from him, at least for one day... Desperately pushing away her treacherous thoughts, Emma focused on what she had told him this morning, almost breaking under the unhappiness in his gaze when she said she wanted to go alone. To be without him.

She could hardly believe it. In less than a year, she had grown so attached to Killian Jones that being without him hurt inwardly. There was longing and wanting when he was not there with her, but underneath that, a sense of incompletion. All of it terrified her, because she knew exactly what it meant, and she didn't want to acknowledge it. Doing so would make it impossible for her to continue being just part of his crew and his friend...and she was certain that her instincts were true, that her feelings were strong and not some weak fascination. Had she not shown them to be so, through deeds?

Emma could almost hear Diane say to her what she had learned long ago:  _it's not falling in love that's the problem ― it's accepting love in return...and believing in it_.

The most logical thing to do would be asking Killian if he felt the same, but she didn't want to do that either. This was not mere attraction or infatuation for her ― and that was strange in itself, that her heart had defined her emotions and recognized them immediately when she had never felt this way before ― but it could be for him, though much belied that. Still, the pain of his absence when she had needed him stung, and she decided ― again ― that she couldn't tell him the truth. But that didn't mean that she had to hide it.

Nonetheless, she would be cautious. It had worked for her so far in every aspect of her life.

Pulling her belongings closer to her, she listened to the ocean, wondering if Killian was still in love with Milah.

* * *

" _What are you doing?"_

_Hastily crumpling the letter in her hand so that the coins inside wouldn't conspicuously spill out and fall to the ground via a tear or loose end, Emma whipped around to see Belle watching her curiously. She must have followed her here when she had disappeared from the open space of the market._

" _Isn't it obvious?" she replied, trying to sound confident and stop her voice from wavering. "I'm sending a letter," she added, pointing to the now wrinkled bit of paper her fingers were cruelly crushing. The man inside the pier building grunted impatiently, intently holding open the sack as widely as he could to make his point._

_Belle rolled her eyes. "I can see that ― but the question here is, whom are you sending it to? You said you didn't have anyone left."_

_She pursed her lips as suspicion started to make her uncomfortable. "I thought I was entitled to a measure of privacy?"_

_The hurt that transformed Belle's expression was mortifying. "Oh...I didn't know," she managed, backing out of the entrance slowly. "I mean, here I thought that friends were entitled to a measure of trust, but..." she drawled, "I guess I was wrong." Her quick footsteps reverberated even after she had sauntered past the door._

_Glancing once more at the undignified looking envelope to check that it was sealed, Emma put in into the sack, thrust several gold coins at the so-called "mailman," and ran as if her life depended on it. Even though her lungs were protesting at the sudden change, there was no time for hesitation ― her friendship with Belle was at stake, and she had to mend it._

" _Belle ― Belle, please wait!" When Emma finally caught up to her, they were by the food vendors, tantalizing smells doing nothing to appease the anxiety tugging at her conscience._

_She turned, the very definition of sullen. "Why should I?" she snapped irritatedly. "I ask a simple question, and you act like I'm trying to steal treasure from you by expecting an answer!"_

_Emma shook her head. "No ― no, it's not like that ― Belle, you have to understand..."_

" _No, I don't."_

_She grasped at her sleeves, holding her back from stepping away. "Please..." she begged. "There's something ― something I haven't told anyone, something I promised. Ever since Diane died ― Belle, I've been tormented every night by what I can't say, by what I have to do. I made a promise to Diane, and I'm bound to keep it."_

_The worry lines on her friend's face softened marginally. "That doesn't mean, Emma, that you have to take out your worries on me. All you had to do was tell me why you cannot offer an explanation, and I would understand – but why, why are you pushing me away?"_

_Emma bit down hard on her bottom lip, the weight of her promise swiftly coming round. "I couldn't explain ― I cannot ― and it's killing me." She choked back a dry laugh, sniffling loudly to restrain forthcoming tears._

_Belle rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. "You said that, um, it was a secret."_

_She shut her eyes tightly, willing her trembling to desist. "I know... But it isn't really a secret...not anymore..." She had to choose...Diane's honor or her own sanity..._

" _Belle, I need to confide in someone, or I'm going to go mad."_

* * *

" _Wow," Belle uttered, leaning her head against the wall. They were sitting in what appeared to be a public miniature garden filled with fragrant flowers and tall trees, which was a stone's throw from the marketplace they had just left to gather their bearings._

_Emma wiped off any remaining wetness from her cheeks. "Indeed..."_

_She was clearly still in a state of shock. "You are determined to do this?"_

" _It's not a duty ― it's my responsibility," she whispered. "It was...her last wish."_

_Belle gave her a sympathetic look. "You would change your life...alter the possibilities of the roads it could lead to...because of this?" When Emma nodded, she whispered, "And you cannot leave things as they are?"_

" _No," she admitted. "Even before...Diane became ill...it was agreed between us that when the time was right, we would either go together or separately. We had decided in the beginning that the situation was the correct course of action, that we could not afford otherwise because of work and money, but that eventually...she would make it better. She would reclaim what was hers, and we would go from there."_

" _Emma..." She shifted on the hard brick bench. "I can't help but wonder...if you can do this. What Diane has asked of you is a lot to ask of any person, no matter their station or circumstances in life."_

" _What are you saying, then?"_

_She paused. "Are you willing to sacrifice what you have in order to fulfill a promise?"_

_Emma remembered a moment in time when she would have denied that, when her desire to be more would be stronger than anything else. But then she heard Doc describing how he has to battle his selfishness to be his true self, and she knew there was only one reply._

" _Yes."_

_She frowned. "Do Doc and Killian know about this?"_

" _I can't tell them."_

" _Emma―"_

" _Do you recall a certain Bible passage that says there's a time and season for everything?"_

" _The Book of Ecclesiastes." Belle chuckled. "Your counter-arguments are a wonder indeed, Emma Swan ― careful now, or I'll challenge you to a contest of wits someday."_

_She grinned, but then her smile was somber. "I will tell them ― both of them ― but not yet. I hate keeping this from Killian, but...surely you must see that there's no need for him to know, not until it will affect him directly. I refuse to have him view this as an omnipresent hourglass that is counting down how many hours, minutes, and seconds we have left together before all changes."_

" _And it's a considerable change, Emma," Belle noted, her tone deadly serious. "You realize what the Captain's reactions could be when he finds out the truth and its consequences."_

" _I do," she murmured, thinking of his bright smile and welcoming gaze, trusting and open and resilient. Silently, regret entered. "But I do not have a choice. This will have to be done." Peering up at her friend, she sighed. "It will hurt like hell, but I cannot betray my friend for my love."_

* * *

Preparations of any kind were a pain in the ass, although a necessary one. Here Killian was, pacing the town square like a restless stallion with a bad temper as he waited for Doc to emerge from the largest shop in Trinidad, and he could only think of Emma. Secretly, he had hoped to catch a glimpse of her wandering through the marketplace, her blonde curls caressing her neck and her green eyes widened from excitement...and like an energetic schoolboy wishing for class to end, he had nearly dragged his friend down to the marketplace when some of the crew had returned to the ship. Sadly, she was nowhere to be seen, and neither was her friend, Miss French. Damn it.

Killian almost jumped to attention when the good doctor rushed out of the open doorway, barely holding on to all the packages in his arms. "He said you can pick up the rest of the supplies on Thursday morning, and he agreed to meet us at the docks." He cursed loudly when one box landed on his foot, and he glared at the Captain reprovingly. "Could I get some bloody help?"

Snapping out of his daze, Killian grabbed half of their new possessions from Doc, shouldering the sacks with ease. Without another word, they began to walk in the direction of the harbor, pausing every once in a while to rest.

During one of their stops, he asked suddenly, "Do you think she's alright?"

Doc seemed to be biting back laughter. "Is our pirate captain going soft now, always worrying about his woman?" he teased, chuckling when Killian scowled. He cleared his throat, trying to quash the remnants of humor. "I am confident Emma's fine ― never have I met a lady more capable of taking care of herself than she, and she has Belle with her in case of any disaster."

A smile widened Killian's lips on hearing this rebuttal. "Aye, that is true." There was a new lightness to his step as he recalled how his lass had fought by his side in Port Royal, brave and sure.

Doc grinned at his receding form, only to frown at the large sack the man had apparently forgotten to keep carrying as his share of the load. Unfortunately, he was too far away now to yell at. "Damn lovesick pirate," he muttered crossly, gripping the bag tightly and gritting his teeth in an effort not to fall over under the additional weight while he followed.

* * *

_Emma had been exceedingly concerned when Constance disappeared a day before land was visible along the horizon. She wasn't in any usual area of the ship. As he had suspected from the first, they found the poor cat huddled under the surgeon's desk, cowering in the corner and meowing pitifully even when Emma offered the distressed animal a bowl of freshly caught fish. It was time._

_Though no physician for pets, Doc had witnessed and helped with many childbirths and knew what to expect from the experience, so Constance's predicament was well handled. The result was a litter of five newborn kittens, all cuddling by their proud mother._

_Out of respect for her attachment to the cat, Doc had placed the new family inside a soft cushioned basket, transferring them to the captain's cabin._

_The most surprising part for Killian was when Emma dared to get close to Constance, even sitting down on the floor next to her. Didn't she know mother animals were especially protective and distrusting, even of their human guardians?_

" _Emma, love ― I don't think that's a good idea..." His voice trailed off when she gently pet the cat's back, no fear in her stance ― and more amazingly, the darned feline let her, purring loudly in encouragement._

 _When she finally gazed up at him, smiling widely, the love and happiness written there blinded him. God, he knew it was really on account of the lass's affection for Constance, but to have her look at_ him _like that..._

" _See? She's not afraid," she whispered, continuing to stare at him and caress the cat's back while the babies slept on. When he moved as to leave, not wanting interrupt such a sentimental moment, she slipped her hand into his and tugged him downward._

" _Stay."_

_He was melting under the rays of his own personal sun, a sparkling star, and its name was Emma. Slowly, he dropped down beside her, nestling her in his embrace, their breathing joining as one and evening out. While they watched the captain's cat join her offspring in slumber, his darling nuzzled her face against his chest, her frame settling against his. Unconsciously, his arms tightened around her, and he rested his head on the top of her hair._

_This was home._

_This was love._

_This was what he wanted above all else._

* * *


	24. Chapter 24

" _Mother?"_

" _Yes, darling?"_

_When Killian tugged urgently on his mother's skirt, she bent over until she was at his eye level._

" _What is it, dearest?" she whispered, gently caressing his hair._

_Hesitating, he bit his bottom lip before blurting out, "Do you love the new baby more than you love me?"_

" _Killian..." Taking his hand in hers, she guided him over to the white upholstered settee in the great room, encouraging him to sit down next to her. "I know you've eavesdropped on several...conversations your father and I have had," she motioned for him to not interrupt when he protested, "but I thought you knew by now that we say many things in the heat of anger that_ _are not true."_

_Hanging his head, he looked down at his hands in shame. "It won't happen again, Mother."_

_She shook her head, smiling softly before lifting his chin up with her hand. "I'm not upset with you, darling ― but you remember what your father told you before. If he catches you again, he_ _will punish you, and you don't want to disappoint him, do you?"_

" _No, Mother."_

" _'Yes, Mother,' 'No, Mother,' ― such grand formality for such a little boy," she teased. "There was a time you only called me 'Mama.'"_

_Killian pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll be ten in the autumn!" he whined._

_Her dark golden curls shook and settled on her shoulders like falling snow when she laughed, her diamond earrings tinkling from the movement. "Ah, yes ― I'd forgotten. You're quite a young man now. That probably means you're too old to give your poor mother a kiss―"_

_In an instant, he had buried himself in her open embrace, deeply inhaling her sweet gardenia scent and snuggling unabashedly with her as he always did whenever she was near. This time, though, he was careful not to jostle her abnormally rounded stomach. "I didn't mean it," he mumbled. "I love you, Mama."_

_She planted a kiss on the top of his head and caressed his dark curls, rocking him on her lap. "I love you more, Killian ― never doubt that. Love should be shared, not divided ― and my love belongs to both of my darlings, not just one."_

* * *

Truly, it had been too long since she had last walked barefoot. Sinking her toes into the warm sand, Emma bit her lip when the waves neared the shore and covered her feet, cool water soothingly contrasting with the heated ground beneath.

Her sleep under the swaying palm trees was vast and dreamless ― and restful. On awakening to the sound of waterfowl announcing their arrival as they headed inland toward some freshwater source, she had danced along the shoreline and gaped at the open sky, the beach stretching up to the colorful jungle where green and brown and blue were sketched into every living thing she could see. Talking to Belle about the truth, making peace with the past ― she hadn't felt this alive since she had befriended Diane.

Trinidad was undoubtedly a balm that was easing her wounds, and in a moment of clarity, she could no longer see why she was avoiding Killian. She had lost her best friend, but she had regained another, a man who had been as lonely and unloved as she was.  _But not anymore._ She also had never had a home before, but a certain ship drifting in sight of the horizon belied that.

There might be problems during the journey, but that didn't mean she shouldn't make it. And Killian was not alone in having made mistakes. God, she knew that too well.

And now she had it all: a home, true friends, a life that made her head spin and her heart soar. No more regrets and no more sorrow ― not when the world was waiting. It was waiting for them to come and find it.

Laughing and giggling as she ran and twirled through the sea, heedless of how wet the hem of her skirt became, Emma reveled in her newfound freedom and the absence of walls and chains. Her heart might ache, but it also burned, and the most important was that she  _felt_. She would overcome every adversity she faced because she would not be subdued or beaten.

She was Emma Swan, and Emma Swan did not surrender. She fought, she lived, she  _loved_. Sometimes there would be a light in the midst of darkness, patient and forthcoming, and sometimes she would have to claw her way to that light, but it was the future. Her future. She would pursue her happiness to the ends of the earth if need be, but she wouldn't be doing it alone. She had Doc and Belle and Leroy and Smee and even sour-faced Smarty. She had  _family_ , a group of individuals who genuinely cared about her.

But most of all, she had Killian.  _And on picturing his face, that rosy blossom in her soul grew._

The sun was on its path to meet the expanse of turquoise sea, nowhere near its setting by her calculations, but she didn't care. Adventure could wait.  _He_  couldn't.

Racing to the tree where she had left her belongings, she quickly pulled on her boots before shouldering her leather pack and her sword. On seeing Belle in the distance, brushing away leaves and swatting at branches as she withdrew from the greenery, Emma waved frantically at her, running across the sand with reckless abandon.

"Belle, come on!" she urged. "Let's go home!"

"Some adventures we had," Belle grumbled as they went through the marketplace yet again, the stalls beginning to close up at the very hint of the sunset. "The most we did was purchase wares, and then you spent your time mainly under a tree, sleeping the day away."

Emma laughed, walking even faster toward the docks. Her heart was urging her onward, bidding her to increase the pace of her feet until she was almost goaded into running by her own eagerness. "All in good time, my friend ― all in good time," she smiled. "After all, we'll be here for nearly a month." When she winked mischievously, Belle's disappointed scowl broke into a fit of giggles.

"Oh, go on ― go to him," she gestured, the  _Jolly Roger_  now in sight, a vague outline in the distance.

Emma needed no additional encouragement. She lifted her skirts, hefted her pack, and did what a true swan would do: wind raising her hair and her spirits, she flew.

* * *

_He had not been allowed to enter his mother's bedchambers. No matter how Killian had pleaded and begged ― he would make himself useful: bringing fresh water, applying a cool compress to her forehead, praying for her, just holding her hand ― his father had not listened, saying a young boy could not be present while she "gave birth." Instead, he had been ordered to sit still on a chair not far outside the door, forced to hear his mother's screams and the physician's loud commands._

_When the midwife began to cluck odiously and his father's bickering echoed through the walls, Killian's sight drifted to the piano in the far off corner of the antechamber. As black as ebony, the instrument had been a gift to his mother after his birth, a constant reminder of her fondness for music. She played beautifully, and she often remarked that she wanted her beloved companion to be near her always, even in sleep. Her fingers covering his as they touched the keys, showing him how to play her favorite pieces, was one of his dearest memories._

_But now, there was no one to comfort her... He wished so much that he could take away her pain. Curling up on the seat, he allowed a single, lone tear to cross his cheek, and he didn't move to brush it away. His father had warned him about what could happen, the reason he was so angry these days. But he understood why, even though it hurt. It hurt to imagine the consequences, and it hurt even more to wait. How could such future joy bring such misery?_

_He simply didn't want to lose her ― neither of them did._

* * *

Killian took another long drink from his flask, savoring the rich, stimulating flavor of rum before finally glancing down at the precious item in his other hand, watching it scintillate in the bright afternoon light streaming through his cabin window. He had never been dependent on another being after he had left his father's house ― even with Milah, he had sailed the seas as master and captain, heedlessly and recklessly ― but this separation from Emma...

He didn't want to admit it to anyone, especially not himself, but...he needed her. And it wasn't just her winsome gaze that kept him warm in the midst of a chilling storm, or her enduring fortitude that held him up when he felt like he was falling apart. After Milah's death, he had told himself that love was a weakness, that it made a person too reliant on another and too occupied with his beloved's well-being instead of his own. That was the selfish pirate speaking, encouraging his heart to become ice.

Looking at the plain brass compass lying on his desk, Killian smiled in remembrance, reaching behind him to tuck the flask into his back pocket. It seemed like only yesterday he had taken his lass for a stroll through Tortuga, their teamwork another reason why he couldn't forget her.

Shuffling about the room, he checked again that every surface was spotless and all was in perfect order. It wouldn't do to have a chaotic mess here when he had such plans in store for... His line of sight met the shape of red and black fabric, all rumpled in a heap on his bed. He had been meaning to deliver the dress to Emma ― after Soupy finally washed it, of course ― as it was now utterly hers. Just seeing the billowing, colorful linen as he carefully folded it in four made his smirk widen instantly and his heart thud painfully. Bloody, bloody hell.

 _Emma..._  She simply made him happy. He only had to see her steering the  _Jolly_  or hear her laughter as she conversed with the crew, and he was alight from within. Her presence onboard, her company...truth be told, he wanted so much from her ―  _first and foremost, her love_  ― but he would still be happy to just be near her, and he was stricken when they were apart. The grace and courage she possessed, despite having experienced tragedy all her life, were enough to make him strive for more, demand more from himself as a captain and a man.  _All for her_.

All this time, she had asked for nothing, giving everything she could in return. She was kind, patient, and selfless ― his muse and his temptress.  _His angel._  She was so many things he could not describe and was helpless to acknowledge. Sighing deeply, he sat down on the tight sheets and cradled his head in his hands, the golden locket swinging around his neck and entangling itself with his own pendants. Soft purring reached his ears, and a bemused Constance was snuggling into his side, three tiny balls of fur nestled around his booted feet while the other two remaining kittens tried to climb his legs.

Memories of Swan were everywhere he turned. It was undeniable: for him, Emma was the best and truest definition of a real woman. And it was about time he presented her with a token of his affections.

Petting the cat reassuringly, he clung to her warmth on his lap as he thought of golden hair and blue-green eyes.  _Come back soon to me, my love... How much I long for you..._

* * *

The very first thing Emma wanted to do when aboard the  _Jolly Roger_  once more was dash downstairs and take Killian into her arms. However, instead of running to her captain like a lovelorn, moon-eyed fool ― a preventative measure she should be grateful for, she kept telling herself ― she had time to mutter and groan while helping Doc organize the new inventory. It seemed that the supplies Killian had ordered had been brought earlier than expected, and aside from the plethora of ammunition (cannonballs, pellets and gunpowder, and new weaponry that was somewhat undefinable) was the familiar mundane: vittles, drinking water in sealed barrels, grog for the crew, and a bevy of other kitchen and domestic items. However, there also was the maritime: new cloth for mending tears in the sails, new rope to replace that which was frayed, and an assortment of wood for repairs. While Leroy, growling under his breath, carried the repaired tools and whatnot below deck, Doc was frantically searching for his new medical supplies, which had gotten lost in the midst of the towering heap of miscellaneous assets, and Belle and Emma were growing more and more exasperated when the directive script on the boxes was so illegible that opening every single one was the sole method of discovering what was within, creating a veritable mayhem. Walking back and forth as she sought out this and that, Emma could only think Killian had spent quite a bit of his savings in providing what appeared to be more than half a year's worth of all a crew could possibly need at sea. Her body shivered in anticipation, ready for more adventure.  _Bring on the horizon._

It was when she was bending over to reach for her own purchases and her swordbelt, her back and feet aching so severely from the day's strenuous activities that she had been forced to drop all of it on the ground, that she heard his voice again. She was hidden behind a rather large crate, and he was speaking to the good doctor rather absentmindedly, his gaze drifting to the land beyond the water.

"Most of the men should have returned by now ― damn sailors must be nodding off again in the tavern―"

Slowly standing up, now holding her leather pack in her hands, Emma lost her breath on seeing Killian's expression as he finally noticed her. The wind rushing in her ears, she took one step forward, then another, feeling like the earth had truly stopped spinning so she could reach his embrace. He was gaping at her, his striking eyes pained and saddened and hopeful while he nearly ran to her side ― and the moment there was no space left between them was when she flung herself into his waiting arms, her pack flung on the ground. There were no words for how he caressed her face, melding his lips with hers until their mutual thirst for each other was thoroughly sated. No words...only looks, touches, whispers of air, the way he was holding her. She had been right: he was waiting for her as well. Now they would wait no longer.

* * *

The boyish smile he gave her afterwards, filled with genuine caring, nearly unraveled her heart, its layers of strongholds and locks nearly undone. She could only helplessly reciprocate the gesture before resting her head on his chest, pulling herself deeper into him until the sound of his heartbeat and her own was all she could hear.  _You're here, you're here, you're here_ , his drummed out,  _reunited, reunited, reunited_. Hers was more indecipherable, but the rhythm was more than telling. She wanted nothing more than to stay like this with him. To stay, and to live. To really, really live ― because without him...she wasn't the same. Life wasn't the same without him.

In his haste to go back into his chambers, Killian had instantaneously decided to carry Emma down the stairs and through the narrow passageways, his visible dismay at having to stop kissing her at certain vital moments ― for example, when he needed to actually look where he was headed ― made her laugh. And he chuckled along with her, which was why they were nearly panting by the time they were inside his room, seated on his bed. They were like young lovers ― breathless, restless, and careless.

Well, this yearning at the bottom of her soul, swiftly rising to its peak... It frightened Emma entirely, that her feelings were so undefined and yet so assured. One meeting after another, with his hands in her hair, hers in his...she was searching his mouth, the contours of his face, his skin, while he mirrored her quest, marked his trails with every burning caress of his lips. The way he always offered her his hand, offering guidance or comfort, or the gentleness in how he took her in his arms, lifting her up as if she were a precious thing...this was their dance, their song, their way of doing and being. Somehow, her selfishness could melt away into the background when she was around him, and she found it so hard to let go of him when they were connected like this.

He stroked her cheeks softly with his thumbs, her face enfolded by his touch. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she was sighing when he parted her lips with his tongue, drawing her into another passionate kiss. Over and over again, they reminded themselves how much they believed in each other.

"My darling Emma," he whispered after what felt like hours had passed. She smiled shyly, holding onto him closer as her forehead rested against his, inhaling his scent and warmth. There was no home like being here with Killian.

"I think it's safe to say that next time, we're going to town together," she murmured back, snuggling against him. She felt him press his lips to her temple before leaning forward, until they were entangled hopelessly in another embrace. The layers of fabric covering their bodies could not conceal how heat rushed and wavered, stoking the fire roaring victoriously as it took them both in its grasp.

He was incanting her name repeatedly as he brushed hair away from her neck, exposing it to his sight and his fingers. And she was burning, melting,  _glowing_. Emma stared at Killian, acknowledging that his admirable physique was a very small part of who he truly was. She had learned so much about him, but it wasn't enough...not when there were souls to be heard. She had seen through his façade, and he had seen through hers as well ― but since it was impossible to read hearts and minds, they had settled for that which was constantly visible. And still, she wanted to know more.

His eyes were shining, even in the dim light, and he looked overjoyed. As for herself...what she felt could not be described in words. It was too powerful, too consumptive. It was what his touch did to her, how his voice moved her. How being with him, enveloped in nothing more than each other, was causing her heart to thrum like the strings of a harp. In that instant, her mind was clouded by only one thing: an image of them as they were now, wanting nothing more than to just be enfolded by arms that promised to give all they had lost and still wished for. And it was an innocent wish, was it not, to desire family and companionship?

He was slowly rocking her back and forth, and Emma gradually realized that she had somehow climbed onto his lap in an attempt to be closer to him. Her cheeks grew inflamed, and she ducked her head when he raised an eyebrow at her in question to her sudden burst of embarrassment. Then, like the true gentleman he was, Killian drew her down until they were lying next to each other on the bed, his hands entwining with her own.

"Tell me about your day," he asked quietly, his gaze never faltering or leaving hers. His hair was windswept and as ruffled as a bird's errant feathers, but she couldn't help reaching out and disheveling it further.

Emma swallowed hard when he lowered her hand to his lips. "Trinidad is truly beautiful...I saw more of it, but most of our time was spent in the marketplace," she admitted sheepishly.

"Seeking land-borne treasure?" he teased, fingers moving upward to outline her jaw.

She curled into the softness of their resting place, finally allowing the tension in her bones to die away. "Not treasure...but..." she bit her bottom lip, "...a gift."

"How mysterious... May I ask whom for?" He was so near, his heartbeat readily lulling her to that dream-like state between waking and sleeping, where she could believe that nothing else existed in the world but him and her.

Glancing downward, her hands trapped between his chest and hers, she whispered, "You know, sometimes I wonder what would have happened if it hadn't been you who found us shipwrecked."

His fingertips grazed her cheek. "Emma―"

"Diane would have died," she continued, fighting to hide her growing pain, "and I would have been alone, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. There would be no future, no prospects. I would have been forced to go back to thieving, and if that didn't work, I would have had to ― to―"

"Shh, love," he soothed, "don't think of what might have been. Think only of what is ― what can be."

Killian's calm breathing, the way he was stroking her cheek in a steady pattern, reawakened Emma's silents musings. "When you think back on the past...what would you change? If you could?" She sighed, biting her lip. "What do you tell yourself?"

Pulling her closer so that her head was again resting on his chest, he whispered into her ear, "Every time I look back, I punish myself by recalling how I have failed. We all have regrets, lass, but the worst is when we mull over what we cannot change and when we can't accept it. I failed to protect Darlie ― I  _failed_  to save Milah ― I failed to keep you from harm―"

"But it wasn't your fault ― it was beyond your control―"

" _Exactly._ " He lowered his gaze until their eyes met. "And you were not at fault either for any of that which has befallen you. You have been a victim of circumstances, of human cruelty, of survival ― and, Emma..." His lips brushed hers. "...I have heard your story. At each turn, no matter how dark, you have always acted out of love ― and it moves me, to be a witness to that."

She felt frozen in his embrace, disbelieving what she was hearing. But Killian braved on despite the expression of shock she knew was etched over her face. "Emma," he pleaded, "you have no idea...how much I..." He buried his nose in her hair, his deep breaths an audible rhythm that sounded like a strain of music, and she caught up to create a harmony betwixt them, her soft hums intermingling with his.

Seeing him so defenseless and open, so unsure, made her want to comfort him all the more ― it was how she reacted every time she was in his arms. So she held him closer ―  _it was never close enough_  ― and felt him relax, the strain leaving his body and hers in the aftermath.

Finally, softly as her eyelids fluttered closed, she heard him, broken and yearning. "You are my hope."

* * *

_Some men ― and women ― said he was a cruel man, vicious and ruthless. He used his cunning for evil, they said, and cared less about those standing in his path._

_As far as Killian Jones was concerned, it took one to know one._

" _Ale for me and my mates!" he yelled, clapping his hands together as many of his crew gathered round, eager to have a taste of this tavern's harlots and its liquor._

 _In little more than a year since he had acquired the_ Jolly Roger _for his own, Killian had ransacked nearly fifty vessels, from insignificant, tiny merchants to Navy armada. Every capture was the same: he would disable the conquered ship, lock the enemy in their own brig, and then the_ Jolly _'s powerful cannons would blow said ship from the water, creating a massive spout of greedy flame that left a pile of flotsam and unrecognizable detritus in its wake. Every celebration of said victory would entail a massive display of drinking and unashamed debauchery._

_There were never any survivors. Mercy, compassion, understanding ― what did he need of those? He was the youngest captain of the best ship in all the realms. He was a pirate. And those who had destroyed all he loved were long due their deserved pay._

_Easing themselves into the rickety chairs surrounding one of the few empty tables, his men cheered when two barmaids served them their drinks, two going so far as to grab the girls and pull them onto their laps. Killian laughed along with the rest at their antics, drawing out a pack of cards from a pocket inside his leather jacket while the noisy din became comfortably loud._

_Gambling, spirits, fine women and songs, and the hunt for gold ― this was what pirates lived for. That, and the company of the sea. There was freedom in that. But for him, it was more than just freedom he sought. The thrill of the hunt, the chase, the spoils when all was won: even when he was a lad, games were never complete without victory. Losses left holes of their own, voids that had to be fixed. So it was in real life, where one misstep could result in death._

_That was why he was determined to never again suffer any losses. Not in war or in love._

_Rubbing at the fine stubble on his jaw, the captain eyed the crowd in the room, searching for some female there suited to his tastes. He had been with a few wenches before ― but always in moderation, as he had seen firsthand how unrestrained lust could deplete a man of his senses. No longer was he unfamiliar with a woman's touch, the days of his innocent youth gone forever. True to his calling, he took what he desired without a second thought. It was this unending hunger, this thirst. This craving to never want for anything, to never need anyone. Others might rely on him, but he would rely on no one but himself._

_Need was weakness._ Love _was weakness. Both would only pull him down, crush him under their weight. He had to focus solely on wants. To reveal what lay beneath would only give people the tools to tear him down and throw him away._

_After minutes of fixed staring, he located a golden-haired head, and in compliance with his intent, he smiled, trying to charm his next conquest. She giggled absentmindedly, looking very young and flirtatious and silly and all of her very immature years, and then he watched her approach a dour-faced man who was counting a very large amount of coins. He paused for a moment to acknowledge her presence before resuming his activity, she tugging on his sleeve excitedly and glancing quickly at Killian repeatedly during their conversation, blushing profusely when he winked at her. Eyes set on his money, the man only patted her on the shoulder and muttered a few words to her, unconcerned about his numerous customers._

_Ah, the tavern owner's daughter. How lovely. Passable appearance, good health, manageable disposition. She could indeed be his bedmate tonight. Caution would have to be used, but since when had Killian Jones ever been afraid of a little danger?_

_A bit of silver flashed as it dangled and dipped into the gap of the corset promoting the girl's bosom ― a necklace, no doubt ― and the captain had to blink twice. In that moment, the tavern was suddenly disillusioned by his sight, becoming a filthy, odor-filled den of drunken thieves, and now he was confronted by an image of his younger self, arms enfolded around his little sister's motionless body as he had solemnly carried her down the stairs of their childhood home for the last time, her silver cross entwined in his fingers. It had swung and brushed Darlene's arm. It had rested on his hand. It had burned its indelible mark into his skin and his memory._

_The same cross hanging around his own neck._

_Downing his ale in one tremendous gulp, Killian snatched the flask of rum he kept stored in the back pocket of his trousers, drinking from it long and hard. To hell with women, wine, and song. Rum was a sailor's habit, one he had picked up not long after first finding the_ Jolly Roger ―  _and by God, he needed more rum. And he knew exactly where he could find it._

_Not in this hellhole of a place._

_Pushing his way through the throng, he peered back at the girl's confused frown as she stopped mid-stride on her journey to his table, his crew's marked ignorance of his decision to leave. Turning up the collar of his signature leather coat, its bold elegance and dark style making its wearer feel like the lord of all pirates, Killian allowed himself one more backward glare at his present life before dismissing his hesitation amid the night air, his feet marching him straight in the direction of the harbor._

_There was no escaping the pain, it seemed. It was here to stay, buried in his heart and always ready to emerge at all the wrong moments._

_Damn his memories._

* * *

Killian knew he was dreaming. How else could he be walking through sloping fields of gold and not ocean, endless hills rolling until they reached mountain ranges, the sky a muddled shade of gray? This was the dreamworld. It was vague and unclear, but in the depths of his subconscious, he was aware that the beautiful figure walking beside him must be Emma. She was like softened silver, her sunshine hair and gentle smile warming him within. But here, there were no inhibitions. She would have no worries, no regrets, no fears. They could just be together and leave everything else behind.

"Do you believe I finally have a chance at finding happiness?" she asked, her voice clear as ringing bells in the reverberating silence of wherever it was that they were.

When she twirled away, he pulled her back, leading her into an awkward, connected dance that brought her into the recesses of his arms. "Now, because of you, we both do," he replied, the huskiness of his tone betraying how much he wanted to show her all that he felt. And, because there were no rules in dreams, he slowly untied the laces in the front and back of the utterly delectable dress she was wearing, pleased when she shuddered and whimpered in response.

And when he was certain she could not be showing more skin, her hands were mimicking the actions of his, her eyes glinting with muted desire and a trace of something more. It was the way her fingers traced his scars, her nails grazing the sensitive areas of his chest, the feel of her lips when they brushed over his own.

He was enjoying the bounteous display of Emma before him, her undergarments askew and her blush making her cheeks a sweet rose hue. And from the telling manner of how she looked at him from beneath her lowered eyelashes, she was enjoying the sight he had to offer her as well. His hands holding her hips flush with his, Killian reached for her, a wide smile on her face when he kissed her with growing hunger.

The tree above them was in bloom ― even though it was not springtime ― and as he lowered his beloved to the soft, hay-swept earth, petals from the red and pink flowers began to fall, covering the ground with a layer of perfume and faint white.

His feelings didn't fade when the image started to, signaling the end. Instead, they expanded until he was burning from heat, aching for respite. But that piercing need was soothed when Emma peered up at him, her soft curves splayed beneath him, and told him how much she wanted him to love her. How much she wanted to love him. How much she wanted...and he was the cause.

Helpless to deny her, he whispered words of endless love when they shared yet another passionate kiss, this one drawing them into a world all their own. This world was white ― flashing, glaring, blinding white.

_And deep in his sleep, cuddling into Emma even more, Killian smiled and let himself dare to believe that they would both be happy._

_With a new dawn quickly approaching, there was always hope for the future. Always._

* * *


	25. Chapter 25

Emma grinned as she watched Killian nuzzle his pillow contentedly, oblivious to the rather loud purring echoing in his ear. Two of Constance's kittens were exact mirrors of their mother in appearance ― sharp green gaze and black and white all over ― while the remaining three were as rambunctious and impetuous as newborns could only be.

One with sheer white fur and dazzling blue eyes was toying with Killian's dark hair, pawing at the strands playfully, while the others were striding over his chest and shoulders, midnight black and morning gray contrasting with the bluish hue of his thin shirt. Then one of the black and white kittens licked his cheek.

"Emma," he moaned in his sleep, making her giggle. The next moment his eyes snapped open, and through muttered curses and wayward, half-awake motions, he was pulling the mischievous creatures off of him and scrambling to escape their strenuous attempts to adhere to his clothes with their weak claws.

She laughed, gathering the kittens into her arms while Killian sat up and rubbed at his face with one hand, glaring afterwards at the miscreants mewing on her lap. "I think you have a group of new admirers, Captain," she whispered conspiratorially, biting back a smile when he pouted.

"Remind me again why I agreed to keep those bloody cats..." he grumbled, looking at her wearily. In an instant, she leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips, pulling back so quickly that he nearly fell onto her as he swayed to and fro.

"Good evening, my handsome sailor," she teased, giggling when Killian raised a brow at her, smirking mischievously. In the blink of an eye, he had yanked her forward until she went sprawling into his arms, the kittens flying right and left onto the comforter.

"You're right," he murmured in between kisses along her neck, fingers weaving through her hair, "I am devilishly handsome. And I don't need any other admirers ― just you."

She laughed again when his stubble tickled her. "Jumping ahead of yourself, aren't you, Captain? By making assumptions about my feelings?"

He smirked again against her skin, placing his hand over her heart. "I think  _not_."

Emma turned to face Killian, staring at him unabashedly. When she stroked his cheek with her fingertips, his answering smile, so heated and beautiful, made her blush, warmth rushing to her face in waves. When he gently rested his forehead against hers, cold metal met her collarbone, and she shivered.

"Oh, I almost forgot ― this was meant to be returned to you," he apologized, lifting Diane's locket up over his head and settling it around Emma's neck once more.

She could only peer down at it, not daring to touch it. Suddenly, the air in the room was constricting, and she couldn't breathe. Slipping away from him, she trod upon the wooden floor, her toes sinking into the fleece rug near the captain's desk as the kittens followed behind, nipping and scratching at the ends of her dress.

Constance had been fast asleep in her straw basket, thick tail wrapped around her form like a second blanket, but she blearily greeted her babies when they paced to her side and joined her in slumber. After petting the cat softly and earning soft purrs in return, Emma half-smiled and rose to her feet, eyeing the open window and the moonlight leaking in. Ocean breeze swept through, rustling her hair...and then came that ever familiar touch of darkness, anticipation and fearful excitement creeping forward stealthily as she scrutinized the night sky filled with thousands of stars, the moon standing overhead.

"It never fails to amaze, does it?" Killian nestled his face in the crook of her neck, wrapping his arms around her waist.

She turned around, glancing at him shyly before looking down. "No, it doesn't," she whispered, sadness in her tone.

Killian frowned. "What's wrong, dearest?" he asked gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Guiding her back to the bed, he settled on the comforters, Emma curling into him when they lay down facing each other. Her fingers touched his pendants, and then his hand found them both.

"Do you ever imagine what your life would now be like had you persuaded Milah to take Baelfire with her?"

He looked utterly nonplussed at her question, but then understanding filled his eyes. "I would have tried to be a father to him," he answered after some hesitation, "so we could be a family. I would have tried to earn his respect, his trust...and perhaps, in the end, his love."

"It would be so different for you now, if she had lived and stayed with you ― if she had chosen Bae  _and_  you." She was inhaling his scent, tightening her grip on the lapels of his shirt.

"How―"

"You would be happy." She cupped his cheek tenderly. "She made you happy ― she made you feel  _loved_. You deserve that, Killian ― to be happy. To be loved like that."

He sat up, pulling her with him. "And what on earth makes you think I'm so unhappy, lass?" Running a hand down her back, he whispered, "I have you. And, m'dear, you have no bloody idea how happy that makes me. How being with you...is what I want."

She looked away from the intensity in his gaze, feeling scorched by it. "I thought that you wanted  _her_  back  _more_ ," she murmured, biting her bottom lip anxiously.

"Where did you acquire that idea?" he asked, caressing her hair.

Emma took a deep breath. "From the way you remember her," she uttered solemnly, her voice cracking around the edges from the longing piercing her heart. Why couldn't her parents, whoever they were, have loved her so devotedly? "The way...you miss her."

Killian's brow furrowed and then lifted in an instant. He smiled crookedly at her. "Ah...who would have thought my Emma could be so jealous?" he teased, patting her nose with his finger.

Blushing, she felt mortified and tried to withdraw from the shelter of his arms. "No, not...  _jealous_..." she chuckled nervously, "no, that's not what I ― that is to say, I didn't mean it like that ―"

He swooped in and interrupted her stammering with a bold kiss, erasing her thoughts until his name echoed in her mind. "Oh Emma...you're quite delightful when you become a rose, love. Green with envy beneath and blushing red on top," he hummed, silencing her with another impassioned touch of his lips when she sought to deny his comparison.

"Let me tell you a story, dearest ― a story that my mother told me long ago, when I was a boy and... _family matters_  had begun to intrigue me. A story that I never forgot, because she loved it so." He swallowed hard, gently enfolding her into his embrace until his chin was resting on top of her head, his strong hands clasping her tightly to him.

* * *

"Off in Eire, or as Englishmen name it ― Ireland ― a fisherman by the name of MacDonald had all he desired. He loved his trade, and he had found the girl of his dreams. But one day, she told him her love for him had faded, and she dismissed him. Heartbroken and angry, MacDonald swore he'd never love again, and he threw himself into his work, laboring at sea for endless days until night fell and it was time to return to his lonely hut on the seashore.

"One afternoon, when the sea was restless, he tossed in his nets, and lo and behold, a mermaid was thrashing within when he pulled them up to survey his catch. She begged him to release her, but he refused, and it was not until she asked for his compassion that he showed the pain he was suffering. She asked him to tell her of his love, and with a promise of reward, he let her whisk him beneath the waves to meet her father the king. When MacDonald asked for true love, the king gave him a ring ― one that was enchanted to keep his dear one's heart always true to him. 'Wait a year,' he told him, 'and you will find her. Once you do, you must put this ring onto her finger. After you marry, my daughter will seek you out, as I would like the ring ― my mother's ― to be returned to me.'

Emma was listening intently, inhaling Killian's words. They were the threads with which he wove the tale, his rich voice the shuttle of the story's loom.

"MacDonald scoffed at this, but he did as he was bid, and after a year went by, he began to despair of the mermaid king's promise. He became reclusive, seldom seeing a single soul except on market day. But that all changed when a young stowaway hid in his cabin. Her face worn by troubles and her eyes very sad, the girl pleaded with him for a place to stay, offering her services within the hut as payment. Begrudgingly, he agreed. Now, every evening he came home from roaming the sea, there was a warm meal on the table, a strong fire in his hearth. The hut was clean, and his bed freshly made. All was in order, but the girl he did not see ― and he thought nothing of it, until his conscience nagged him and he relented despite himself. He found her sleeping inside the shed he kept for storing his nets. Shamed, MacDonald gave her a place inside his home. Her name was Ana. Over time, they became companionable, to the point that they shared stories about their lives and everything in between. Ana revealed that she had run away from her cruel stepmother, who had been beating her, and MacDonald mentioned his heartbreak at the hands of his former love ― and how the mermaid had given him a ring that would guide him to his true love.

After some time had passed, the girl decided to go home, declaring she no longer feared her family thanks to MacDonald's kindness, and, helpless to deny her anything, the young fisherman watched Ana leave his life as she walked away from the home they had made together on the beach. Distraught and tormented by rage and regret, he paced inside his hut for days until he reached a decision. Taking the ring, he reached the crossroads, where one path led to the capricious woman who had crushed his heart, and the other followed the footsteps of the friend who had healed him."

"He chose  _her_ ," Emma whispered, her hands palming his chest. Killian was smiling now ― she just  _knew_  it.

"Aye ― when he found Ana, he asked her to marry him, professing his love for her. Happily, she agreed, and MacDonald then slipped the ring onto her finger. After their wedding, he took her to the docks, and with a swish of her tail, the mermaid princess appeared. However, she asked him to keep the ring, to remember the merfolk by, and with good wishes for the true love he had received, she dived down into the depths of the sea, never to be seen again. For the rest of their lives, Ana and MacDonald's love was long and true ― but they didn't need a ring to know that they were meant to find each other. For even after they died and their ashes were scattered over the waves, two new stars could be seen in the sky, so close together that they seemed to be one."

Reaching up to tilt his face downwards so he could see her, Emma gazed at him steadily. "But she didn't reject you, Killian...she just wanted her son."

"Indeed, my sharp lass," he returned, his expression forlorn and saddened. Then his tone became very gentle, almost nervous. "But she made her choice ― and I made mine. We could have collected him when he was older, given him a life at sea ― but what is done is done, and it can never be undone. I admit," he confessed, "that I never thought I'd move on from Milah... But I have. The very moment...that I met  _you_."

She was struggling to form a single coherent thought. He wasn't... _he couldn't_... "I've..." she gulped, "I've never had family like that. The story..." She hadn't noticed she was whispering. "...it was lovely. Thank you...for sharing it with me. And speaking of which..."

Before he had a reasonable opportunity to reply to her, she whisked herself away to rummage through her pack, which had been carefully placed on top of Killian's desk. Next to it was a piece of parchment, and was that...Doc's handwriting?

"Killian," she called, "it says here that the rest of the crew will be entertaining themselves in Trinidad tonight ― apparently, it's the eve before the celebrations of a great annual festival begin, and Doc is escorting Belle because she wants to see the...'fireworks' tonight. His final words are...'Don't burn the ship down on your own.'"

"Clever rascal" were his two muttered words before he was standing next to her, staring at Doc's note with unconcealed amusement. She took advantage of his distraction to find what she was looking for and hide it behind her back, smirking when he finally acknowledged her demure pose and his eyes narrowed.

"What are you up to, lass?" he asked, one brow raised.

"I...got you something. When I was in the market today." She felt herself blush when his puzzlement turned into a broad, very pleased grin.

"Did you, now?"

Biting her lip, Emma went up to him, walking slowly. "Close your eyes," she whispered. Staring at her warily, a hint of another mischievous smile on his face, he complied. Moving closer, she continued, "Hold out your hands?"

His lips twitched at her commanding tone. "Aye aye, Captain Swan," he finally drawled, winking.

She laid it out across his palms carefully, making sure the chain did not entangle itself. The cool metal suddenly on his skin clearly made Killian flinch, for his eyes snapped open, only to direct themselves to the object now adorning his cupped hands.

"It's a―"

"A compass." Emma recalled how tempting the small chain necklace had been, locked away in the jeweler's chest. The navigational device lying at its end, designed to fit in the palm of one's hand, made of light gold that mirrored the sun's glow. Clear quartz, polished until it shined like transparent glass, revealing the perfect arrow within. Next to tiny inscribed letters circling around the edges were small colored gemstone markers, one for every direction mapped on the inside of the quartz cover, and the center that kept the arrow itself in place was a perfect pearl bulb, inlaid on top of the delicate inner parts. However, what had struck her the most about this particular item was not its perfect craftsmanship and unique beauty, but also what it hid within.

Before Killian could reply, she quickly said, "And best of all ― it has a secret." Using her fingers, she turned the sides of the compass until the arrow was indirectly pointing at a particular diamond. "'When you see the North Star, the treasure does not lie far,'" she recited after squinting to read the text. She grinned when she heard a soft click result from her efforts.

Turning it over, she gently opened the back cover to reveal a hidden compartment. "For keeping what you value most," she finished softly.

The pirate at her right was swallowing hard, his lips parted slightly, his hair still mussed from their brief rest. He clutched at the golden compass in his hand, rubbing his fingers against the now warm surface, as if it would all vanish into thin air.

"Look," she hastened to point out, "you can even put the portrait inside―" Milah's portrait was sitting, unfolded, on the desk, and after following worn creases, Emma fitted the parchment into the compass' storage space and then closed it. "See? A snug fit."

It was a compact sized compass ― handmade of fine materials by the Spaniards or Portuguese back in the fifteenth century, during the voyages of Christopher Columbus. Or so the proud jeweler would have her believe. One of a kind, it could have been designed for the famous explorer himself...or for a lovelorn sailor by his sweetheart. There was no telling how or why this compass came into existence, but Emma only knew that the instant she had seen it inside that box, she had to obtain it for Killian, no matter the cost.

"Emma... What did you give...for this?" The man in question was still stricken by apparent shock, his voice a bare murmur.

She cocked her head, a small smile on her lips. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I would," Killian pleaded. "Please, darling. What did it cost? For even someone like me can see it is worth its weight in jewels, silver, and gold."

Brows raised, Emma took the necklace from him and proceeded to unclasp it, reaching around his neck to fasten it again. "First of all," she answered testily, resting her hands on his shoulders, "you're not lowly in any way. You're Killian Jones ― a strong captain, a voyager  _extraordinaire_ , and a caring leader. Secondly, I would give more than the remainder of my wages to see you have a token of the living by your homages to the departed."

Running her fingers along his jaw, pressing a kiss to his cheek, she gently tucked the compass between Darlene's silver cross and the skull and crossbones only a pirate would wear. "I know that you have a compass already ― several, in fact ― but I wanted to...to give you something of your own ― something unique ― so you'll always find your way, no matter where you are―"

Then he was pulling her to him, one hand behind her neck and the other nestled in her hair, his mouth drawing into the most passionate kiss they had ever shared. There was tugging and swallowing and nibbling, deep moans and sighs that she was sure came from the both of them, their tongues intermingling while their lips conjoined. It went deeper than his want for her and her need for him; all her feelings were rising to the surface, breaking through until she wanted to hold him in her arms forever, show him how much she cared for him. How much she―

She grasping at the lapels of his shirt, hanging on to him for dear life, gasping for air as he did the same. Slowly, a wide smile made its way across her face, and she could wager she was beaming as well. "I'd say that you approve of my gift," she said teasingly.

When her eyes fluttered open, it was to see him gaze at her if she were a new sun setting before him and he were astounded. "Love, I haven't received anything from anyone since I was a young lad living under my father's roof," he eventually replied, his voice husky and deep. His fingers trembled as he touched the small compass again. "For you to give me this... I don't know how to th―"

"No," she interrupted, covering his lips with two fingers. "You don't need to ― I don't  _want_  you to. It's nothing, in comparison to all you've given to me."

"Careful, lass, or we'll get into an argument about gratitude, trying to outdo ourselves," he winked, letting go of her to pick up a small case lying on his bedside table.

He was nervously shifting his feet, her flirtatious pirate now very shy and self-conscious before her. Tentatively unlocking the case, he lifted the top. With downcast eyes, he explained, "It's been in my family for as long as the James name has existed, passed down from generation to generation."

Emma gaped at the triangular blue gem set in the middle of a trinity knot pendant, the simplicity of the ornate silver binding it together. Judging by its curves and softened edges, it was an impressive necklace meant for woman of stature, a great lady. She didn't want to ask, but she was sure Killian's mother must have worn it at least once during her lifetime.

"It is," he uttered, "the only real memento I have of my heritage. Though I have the memories of my youth, my father most certainly disowned me, and I will most likely never again see the house where I grew up ― which is why, with that in mind, I took this with me before I left England for good."

His sad tone was one reason why she was completely bemused when he lifted the pendant out of its resting place and moved as if to place it around her neck.

"Wait ― what are you doing?" she exclaimed.

He ducked his head. "Isn't it obvious?" His next words brushed her ears and sank into that part of her that was quivering helplessly in time with her heart. "I want you to have it."

"But―" She shook her head. "It belongs to  _you_!"

Killian was trying hard to refrain from grinning at her, but in the end, his desire to do so won. "True, love ― and it is mine to give, as well. And therefore, I am giving it to you..." He was within arms' reach now. "Because I want to."

"I can't own such a treasure," she excused.

"Why ever not?" he tsked. In one fluid movement, the cool jewel was lying against the skin at the base of her throat, the smooth links of the chain meeting in a circle at the back. Taking her by the hand, he led her to the mirror.

"See?" he encouraged. "It suits you, love." His arms were around her waist, his chin resting in the crook of her neck.

Emma sighed, reluctantly yielding to this present. Still, in her opinion, it was too much ― worth too much, and a family heirloom in addition. "What's its story?"

He half-smiled. "The trinity knot has religious symbolism behind its origin, of course ― the Holy Trinity's unity and God's love for it ― but in my family, it was a sign of love, loyalty, and honesty: the intertwined three that make a person whole and true. The stone in the center ― it's aquamarine, and it has a tale of its own. Called 'maxixe' and smuggled from the island of Madagascar, it turns white when exposed to sunlight, and true to one of my forefathers' whims, it was hand cut to fit perfectly inside the innermost part of the knot. My grandmother, whom I never met, claimed it was a gift for his betrothed..."

She stared at his reflection, at the fine eyes and figure of the man who had raised her up from the ashes of her previous life. She liked to think she had done the same for him, that they had helped each other see beyond their despair and pain and anger. "Why me?" she asked. "Why  _me_?"

"Can't you see why?" he responded instantly, shaking his head a little and smiling sadly. He grasped her chin gently with his thumb and forefinger until he was gazing right into her, fixated on her. She couldn't look away.

"Emma...you're so beautiful. So, so beautiful. So strong..." He moved his hand to hold her cheek, caressing it in time with his words. "You leave me in the dust, darling, because I've never met a person with as much courage and strength as you. Milah had the gumption to go after what she wanted, but you..." He gulped. "Since I lost my mother, I've been cursing and swearing at the God above ― if there is one, anyone beyond this earth, watching this façade we call life ― blaming Him for all the pain and suffering in this world...and in my own. I've been hiding, like you once said, behind the path I've chosen: being a pirate. I thought what I had gone through, what I lost, absolved me from my sins, but...that's not true, is it?"

She shook her head at him. "Killian―"

"I've been waiting for the winds of change," he interrupted quickly, leaning in until their foreheads were touching. She sighed. She had wanted that for herself as well, that all would suddenly become better. "I was waiting and waiting for everything to fade away, for the darkness in my memory and my bones to slink away into the shadows where it belongs. I lost hope. I didn't think I'd ever recover. But then..." he smiled. "I saw you. And Emma...for the first time since I held my Darlie in my arms when she was a wee babe, I thanked God ― Providence ― the angels ― the saints ― Heaven ― for bringing me to you. For  _blessing_  me with your presence. I don't deserve it. I know I don't deserve you. When I make you laugh or...I give you any joy, in any way I can, I feel... I  _feel_. And that, in itself, is  _priceless_."

She honestly didn't know what to say ― how to reply to  _that_. Emma bit her lip, knowing that her face was flushing immensely and her reaction was entirely visible. She peered down at the pendant, circling the wondrous maxixe stone with one finger.

"I would do anything for you," he promised, his voice husky and intense. "I would give you  _anything_. Even my life. And I would have no regrets."

Her eyelids fluttered shut, and her breathing became haggard. He was going to say...no, he couldn't, because then her resolve to be silent would break and all she had secreted away would be instantaneously revealed. But part of her wanted him to. Part of wanted to toss her caution to those winds and let what would be... _be_.

"But what about Milah?" she countered weakly, one last attempt at dissuading him. How could she tell him that she didn't deserve  _him_? "What about your tattoo...your―"

He brushed her lips with his own. "I've made my peace with her, Emma.  _Finally_. Finally, I can be free... _I am free_...free to be with the woman I want." Glancing down at the compass dangling by his cross, he turned his eyes back to her, a bright, widening grin illuminating them.  _Ocean blue_. Blue that startled her senses, struck within through a featherlight touch. Her blood warmed, and her body followed. "Do you like it? The pendant?"

Tentatively, she ran her fingers through his hair, repeating the gesture when a noise akin to a cross between a growl and a purr came from his throat. A smile threatened to overcome her lips ― it succeeded ― and then she persevered to draw him closer till they were embracing, his face buried in her hair and her tucked safely in his arms. "I love it," she said with conviction.

_She never wanted to let go of him._

Naturally, as fate would have it, her stomach rumbled impatiently at the precise moment she felt very inclined to kiss him. Pulling back, he raised a brow at her and smirked, to which she chuckled. Sliding her hand down, she found his and entwined their fingers. "Come ― Soupy may be gone for the night, but we'll have supper."

He gave her a sly half-smile. "How about  _we_  prepare it...together?"

Now she was surprised. "You...can cook?"

"Have you forgotten?" He tugged her forward, whispering into her ear, "I may no longer be a nobleman, Emma, but I still consider myself a man of  _many_  talents ― especially in the kitchen."

She laughed out loud. "Let's prove that theory, shall we, pirate?" she teased with a smirk, guiding him out the door.

"If the lady insists." Like a stroke of lightning, he captured her from behind and lifted her up until he was carrying her in his arms. "And who's calling who a pirate, m'dear?"

She giggled in response, leaning her head on his shoulder. "You really like doing that, don't you?"

"I thought you were enjoying yourself as well?" he mock pouted, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Shortly after, he acted on initiative and began to tickle her. Emma shrieked in delight, attempting to avenge herself and failing miserably, her fingers unconsciously reaching for the pendant as an anchor. As they headed toward the kitchen, Killian's deep laughs echoed throughout the empty ship, expelling any unhappiness that remained.

_She never wanted to let go of him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The story Killian tells Emma is an actual Irish fairy tale.


	26. Chapter 26

As when she came before, the streets of Trinidad were bustling with people. There were the well-dressed who hurried about, making purchases. There were the merchants themselves.

Then there were the poor, who gaped longingly at things they could never hope to have.

Being a pauper herself, Emma recognized the looks on their faces, the way both beggars and orphans stared wistfully at pieces of fruit one woman offered a foppish man as a sample of her wares. She could feel their pain all too acutely. Which was why she was going around, giving them bread and meat and apples, her basket growing lighter with every step. She bravely wove through the alleys in order to seek out everyone who needed food and a bit comfort. Naturally, Killian disapproved of her going alone and unchaperoned, saying that he worried about her safety, but she had waved his nagging away, confident that she would be fine by herself.

She found one little boy nearly fainting at the street corner, his eyelids fluttering as he pressed desperately against the wall, not wanting to be seen, a small cap next to him in a plea for alms from the passersby. "Please," he begged when he saw her approach, "please, let me rest here ― just for a little while."

Down on her knees, she tentatively reached out a hand to stroke his hair, her heart staggering when he pursed his lips as if expecting her to hit him instead. "Don't be afraid," she hummed softly, showing him the inside of her basket. "I've brought you something." Smiling, she pulled out all the items that were left. Taking out the black scarf lining the bottom, she wrapped the vittles into a bundle. She held it out to him.

"Here ― this is for you." He drew back when she stepped forward, trembling violently. "It's only some boiled potatoes, wild pork, and crusty rolls." There was a gleam in his eyes when she continued, "I also left the best apples and oranges for you."

Slowly, he took the bundle from her, cradling it in his arms. "Th–thank you," he stuttered.

"You're welcome," she said gently. "What's your name?"

He sniffled, his finger curling about the knot of fabric obscuring his view of the food. "R–Roland."

"Roland..." Emma glanced down at his torn clothes, soiled beyond repair, and his shoes, full of holes. "How old are you?"

His eyelashes fluttered again. "I'm nine."

She cursed under her breath. He looked so small, so fragile. So broken by what life had already done to him.  _So much like her at that age._  "Where are your parents?"

At that, he turned away from her, his eyes brightening while his lips tightened. "I don't have any parents." There came a sound that resembled a combination of a choked gasp and a whimper. "'Sides, I don't want your pity. You don't care anyways."

Looking down at his legs, concealed by his rags, Emma observed how stiff they were, how he twisted his upper body but was careful not to move even his feet. "It's not pity," she replied quietly. "And I care more than you think."

The boy still hid his face from her. "Why? Because you want something?"

She stretched out her hand to him, feeling a strong connection to this neglected orphan who wanted nothing more than to be left alone after the world had tortured him so. Her heart twisted at the thought that someone had broken his legs just out of spite. And in that moment, that vital organ made her decision for her. "No...I expect nothing. I only want to help you, Roland." She leaned forward. "Take my hand? Let me...let me help you?"

From what she could see, his lower lip was trembling. "You ― you won't hurt me?"

She shook her head. "I promise I won't."

When he finally met her gaze, it was obvious that he had been crying. A faint gleam there meant that perhaps he was beginning to trust her. "But I'm of no use to anyone. I'll only ― only be a bother." He bit down more tears. "My ― my legs―"

"It's okay. I know," she soothed. Roland crawling toward her, dragging his lower half against the dirt, the most devastated expression on his face, his brown eyes full of pain...it made her veins burn with hurt, with compassion, with sorrow. What she wanted was to take him into her arms and assure him that he was safe.

And she did, her own eyes stinging madly when he took her hand. He hesitated for an instant, staring at her, before he flung himself into her arms. Sobbing into her shirt, clinging to her desperately, her fingers stroking his dark hair in an effort to silently comfort him... A swift wave of nostalgia and childhood memories swept over Emma, wracked with despair. Roland must have been abandoned, and it seemed that no one cared about him at all.

Her edges of her vision blackened, while her pulse hammered against her ribs, her brain, beneath her eyelids.

Well,  _she_  was not going to abandon him. Not a chance in hell.

* * *

" _Killian, what are you doing?" she gasped, pushing backward against him so he would desist his current behavior. Another tender, slow kiss was rendered to the column of her throat, and she almost dropped the skillet on the floor._

" _What does it feel like, love?" he whispered to her skin, his arms wrapping more tightly around her waist. "I'm assisting you...with the cooking."_

" _With the cooking?" She tried to playfully jab him in the stomach with her elbow, but failed when his mouth found hers. The fish and potatoes lay forgotten, sizzling over the lit stove, as they tried to maneuver about the small kitchen without hurting themselves in the process._

" _Aye," he moaned softly, leaning in again to taste her further, their second kiss deepening until Emma forwent the act of preparing their meal and turned around, melting into his embrace as her hands rested on his chest and his hips pressed against hers intimately._

" _What about the food?" she murmured back, kissing along his jawline while he buried his nose in her hair, continuing to keep her close to him._

" _Damn the food." One of his hands rose to gently cup her cheek, while the other traced the path of her spine. "You're too tantalizing to ignore, Emma."_

_She grinned at him, chuckling, "I prefer 'fascinating', Captain. And as for that...you're quite mesmerizing yourself. But now..." She slowly returned to her previous stance, stirring the firewood beneath and grabbing the pan once more. "Now we finish what we started, because I'm as hungry as you are."_

_His lips broke into a smile by her cheek. "Starving, darling...in so many ways..." His hand covered hers reassuringly, holding the heavy iron pan steady while their supper crackled and became crispy._

_For a moment in time, Emma imagined what domestic life with Killian Jones would be like. Such a simple task like cooking, menial to some and regular to others, seemed so out of place for a pirate captain like him...but by the firelight, at her side, he was simply the man she loved, helping her because he wanted to._

_Her heart lurched and nearly stopped short, its beats erratic like a bird's wings._

_To realize that she loved him in an instance like this..._

_How odd, to finally know the truth ― to know it absolutely and wholly._

_How perturbing, to discover how deeply her feelings were rooted when romantic love was such a foreign notion to begin with._

_How remarkably, thoroughly..._

_Marvelous._

_To love him._

* * *

"Will his legs heal, Doc?" Emma muttered under her breath, watching as Roland slept peacefully in the surgeon's bed.

The doctor gave her a look of uncertainty. "Fortunately, you got him to me in time, Emma ― I was able to reset the bone in each leg and quell down his fever, but if the compound fractures had gotten any more infected, he would have lost both limbs." He squeezed her hand when she shuddered. "You remind me of me when I would visit the orphanage in London. You care more than most ― you have no idea how very rare that attitude is." Doc pursed his lips. "But I know."

She let a small smile pull at her lips. "And Belle?"

His entire face flushed. "She has a giving heart. But I worry for her. She's a strong person, Emma, but I doubt this could be a life for her. She belongs in rooms full of books, of culture, of opportunity―"

"You're an opportunity," Emma interrupted. "She sees the goodness in you, and she stays. Isn't that enough for anyone? To find another in whom you can trust?"

* * *

" _Well,_ _Doc said that the best friendships always start with a good, solid game of chess." Emma smiled as she moved her queen across the board, threatening the black bishop and knight._

_Killian only gave her a sly smirk before taking one of her pawns with his own. "Check, darling," he said, dangling his prize in front of her, "and yes, chess cements respect between individuals, as well as promoting a deeper insight into the other's character and habits by the manner in which they play." One eyebrow raised, she tried to take his pawn with her king, but he tsked at her, pointing at his tower standing directly behind his pawn. "Have to protect yourself from further attack?"_

" _I have played chess before, you know," she grumbled, reluctantly removing her king and hiding it behind another pawn._

" _Oh, don't fret, m'dear ― you're doing beautifully so far." He grinned mischievously and eyed their conquests so far: five of his black and seven of her white were next to each other at the far side of the board, outliving their capture and watching over the conflict with muted interest._

_Emma, however, took advantage of his temporary fixation to scrutinize her pieces' position. Then she took notice of her opponent more closely, and the game faded into the background._

" _Checkmate."_

_Startled out of her musings, she glanced quickly at the chessboard. "Oh." She let out a sigh of defeat and shrugged. "You win." The familiar sting of losing was absent in light of her heart's throbbing discovery, and she couldn't see straight because of it._

_But Killian was looking more and more concerned each passing moment, nonplussed at her reaction. "Emma..."_

_She peered at the wall behind him, fixated on it so she wouldn't meet his gaze. "Tell me: what's all the clamor about alcohol among pirates, anyway?" she inserted before he could continue his remarks, hastily changing the subject so he wouldn't see...what she had to hide._

_Finding out that you're in love should be wondrous and delivering and powerful...it should be the happiest moment in your life, with requited love leading to only more happiness._

_Not sadness. Not pain. Not torment. Not agony battling with ecstasy. Certainly not the way she was feeling inside right now._

_This was horrible._

_Killian appeared to be so confused by her question that his brow furrowed and he remained speechless until she repeated it. "Not exactly the words I thought would pass your lips," he finally replied, staring down at his glass of rum. "Rum has its merit in regards to taste and flavor, and it's a regular favorite in the Caribbean, native to Barbados..."_

_As he listed the varieties of spirits and their sensory merits, she took advantage of his distracted state, her thoughts drifting back into uncharted territory._

_The very instant Killian would realize the depth of her feelings for him, all hell would break loose. Saying the words...well, she'd never be able to take them back. And besides, he would see the truth in her eyes, and no matter how she'd try to deny it, he wouldn't believe otherwise. No, it was much safer to bury this, like a treasure chest that needed to be protected._

_She had to guard her heart. She had to guard his. Therefore, she couldn't tell him she wanted to be his. She couldn't ask him if he felt exactly the same about her. Secrecy was the only way everything could continue in the same manner as it was. They could remain friends. He could still be her suitor, the gentleman pirate courting her. She could still be his helmsman, a part of his crew, his confidante, and his friend._

_Killian didn't have to know she has fallen in love with him―_

" _I must say, Swan, your thoughts truly are occupied tonight." He was gazing at her with concern, a hint of amusement, and more than a little curiosity. "Was it the wine?" he suggested with a cheeky smile._

_She nodded, a bit too abruptly, and then suddenly hiccuped. Killian bit down on his bottom lip, grinning and clearly enjoying her badly concealed denial and the complexion of one who had been caught in a lie. "I confess my mind has wandered everywhere possible, liquor aside." She shrugged, attempting to slide out of her chair and whisk herself away to the piano, where her back would be turned to him and he couldn't see her face. But he was faster, assisting her out of her seat like the gentleman he always was. "I ― I was hoping we could go on deck and get some fresh air." A blush flew over her cheeks when she couldn't avoid his piercing gaze. "That is, if you'd like to."_

_His fingers toyed with a strand of her hair that had escaped her chiffon. When he gently tucked it behind her ear, the tip of his forefinger tracing the outside of her ear, descending down her jawline until it reached her chin, she scarcely breathed for fear he'd hear how much every part of her longed to kiss him as he bent his head and leaned toward her. But she couldn't. He would feel the truth ― she knew he would._

_So she turned her mouth to the side, hoping he would desist his advances._

" _Emma," he murmured, lips brushing over her temple. "What has been bothering you all evening, love? Have I done something to offend you?"_

_She swallowed down her rising tears desperately, slowly shaking her head at him. If only she didn't have to be strong and stubborn, protecting both him and herself from a deepened affiliation that was a risk. If only Diane had had her happy ending and Emma hadn't seen what it meant to be bereft of your heart when someone else had stolen it away. If only she believed harder in love, in its power, in its immortality. Then she could give herself to him completely, not holding anything back, easily disregarding the consequences._

_When Diane had fallen in love, it had eventually shattered her. Emma did not want the same fate. Even if that entailed surrendering what she felt for this man to the shadows, never letting him see it. Oh, how could she hide this from him, when they shared everything with each other?_

_On seeing her discomfort and lack of response, Killian pressed her no further, instead straightening his posture and extending his arm to her. "Shall we, milady?"_

_God, his smile... Emma wanted to melt into his arms and embrace him tightly, whisper to him all her secrets and beg him to tell her his._

_But she surely could not. She must not. Because admitting aloud that she loved him was irreversible._

_It would ruin all they had and spin their world more out of control that it already was._

* * *

Killian was pacing outside the door when she came out. "How is the wee lad?" he asked, sounding both anxious and concerned.

Emma looked down at the wooden floor, crossing her arms over her chest. "Roland is in good hands. But only for now. When he goes back to the streets, I don't dare to imagine what will become of him." She searched his eyes. "Someone maliciously broke his legs on purpose, Killian ― the bone was fractured in two places."

He didn't look away from her. For a moment, there were no voices, no echoes, no noise at all. They were standing still amid time, and she could merely stare back at him as he pondered her unspoken question.

"Would you―" Killian's voice grew husky and deep. The beauty of it, forever unalterable, warmed her senses. "Do you wish for the boy to stay aboard the  _Jolly_ , be under your care?"

"You would do that for me?" she asked with wonder, hardly believing her ears. "The rest of the crew won't like this, anymore than they like me―"

"I am their Captain." He tilted his head up proudly, his stance firm and unshakeable and authoritative. "The men will do as I say, because it is I who pay them their wages, give them their spoils, and lead them to glory and riches. If I want to give you anything you desire, they have no cause for argument. You are under my protection, my care ― and if Roland will be under yours, then there is no need for fear, Swan." His gaze softened. "I've subdued mutinies before, love ― letting the lad stay on because you want it is no trouble to me."

"But you always consider if the men deem your actions weak," she countered.

"Mercy and compassion are no weakness." He cupped her cheek, the sweeping motion of his thumb burning her skin as scalding heat overtook her very soul. "Listening to your counsel and wisdom is no weakness, Emma."

She tried to chuckle, but it transformed into a whimper. "You compliment me too much, Captain."

His answering kiss overwhelmed her, but this time, she let herself fly into it, let herself try to ignore the warnings of her common sense and override them with the will of her own feelings.

_Killian, I love you._

"You're crying." He wiped off the trailing droplets from her skin, the action so tender and intimate that it only made her break apart more.

"I'm only crying because I'm happy, Killian," she explained, chuckling through her sobs when he tapped her nose with one fingertip.

"The captain's quarters are Roland's for as long as he needs ― and I will be counting on you to come and check on him." He pressed his forehead against hers. "Just promise me one thing when you're busy off playing nurse to the boy while carrying out your duties and giving the crew a regular taste of your charming wit?"

Light-hearted at last, she grinned mischievously at him. "And what's that?"

"Remember me," he drawled before capturing her mouth again and pulling her again under his spell.

* * *


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta **believing-in-words** and my dear friend **Lifeinthewoods** , I'm back on track with this story.

Taking care of Roland meant a change in Emma's plans. Instead of strolling about Trinidad, she was spending a great deal of time in the captain's cabin, tending to the injured lad. For a week, she confined herself inside the room, watching over him. Either she was reading, or sewing, or staring out the window, immersed in her own thoughts. Nothing would move her from his bedside. The boy bravely fought his fever before succumbing to hours of deep slumber, a hopeful sign that he was on the mend. Belle and Doc then persuaded Emma to tend to herself, stating it would not do for her to risk her own health and fall ill as well. Thank God she listened.

In turn, much of Killian's time was devoted to watching over her. The  _Jolly Roger_ 's repairs needed overseeing, all supplies had to be re-organized and accounted for ― but every spare moment he had was for his lass. Emma was always in his thoughts. It was he who cleaned up after the kittens, who were clawing at anything their tiny paws could swipe at. And it was he who tucked Swan into his bed next to Roland so she would sleep for at least a few hours. Night after night, he would put aside his own exhaustion from the day's responsibilities and look after them.

Doc lent his assistance as often as he could, but the poor fellow needed shore leave as much as the next man. Belle was also attentive, but the lovelorn expression on his physician's face during her absence made the pirate captain order the couple to spend some time ashore ― by themselves. Killian was quite familiar himself with the effects of cabin fever and had no desire to witness the symptoms in others, especially when they were docked at port and not seabound.

As for the crew, they bloody well knew better than to laugh at his new duties behind his back. Killian would not allow any insubordination on his ship or questioning of his authority as captain. He meant what he had promised Emma. He alone made the orders and no one was going to tell him what he could or could not do.

As a result of his cabin's occupied state, he was staying in one of the rooms directly adjacent to it, overcome by a strong need to protect both passengers inside. He would not feel right, leaving Roland and Emma unprotected while he took up quarters somewhere else on the ship ― though he had no doubts his lass could fight hard enough for the both of them, if so inclined. Emma could battle the sea itself if she needed to. She already had.

"What happened next?"

The walls echoed the sound of timid crunching while Roland nibbled on his shortbread biscuits.

"Oh, the shepherd boy shared all the animals with everyone in the entire village. Sometimes, when he was free, he would go back to the grotto where the fairies slept, take out his flute, and play a tune or two." Emma chuckled, and then there was a loud meow ― from one of those rambunctious feline rascals, no doubt, up to some mischief or another.

"And then?" Roland pressed.

One of the wardrobe doors opened and then quickly closed. "He went back to his family ― and he told his story to all who loved him."

"His mother too?"

There was a period of silence, something that had not happened since she had entered the room. Wherever Emma went on his ship, she brought the sunshine of her smiles and her laughter. It was as if the entire vessel, from the loneliness of the inner hold to the busy upper deck, had been roused from consuming darkness and showered with pure light ― tangible and real and breathtaking.

All because of her.

Killian smiled to himself, careful not to nick himself with the edge of the razor blade. The sharp knife dipped low and high as he attempted to shave any remaining stubble from his chin.

"His mother scolded him at first," Emma began hesitantly, "because he had gone missing, and she and his father were worried about him. But his parents were so happy to see him again, safe and home, that they forgave him."

The room went quiet. The boy must have fallen asleep during the storytelling. Knowing Emma, she no doubt had taken her usual place beside him, making sure he could breathe properly and was in no pain while he slept.

Captain Jones was never lacking for female attention at any port. He was no stranger to attraction. Then why did his breath catch in his chest when he had only heard her speak? Why did he feel her presence through the wooden walls between them, when he could not even see her?

Oh, he knew what Doc would say.  _You are besotted with the lady, old friend._

Ha,  _besotted_  was a schoolboy's fancy. He was a grown man. What he felt for Emma was much deeper. It was not a passing flirtation or a short infatuation ― it was serious.

He was in this for the long haul. He had won her friendship and her trust. Now he would try to win her heart for his own.

Dipping a washcloth in the cool water within the basin, he wiped off the bits of cream left on his cheekbones, chin, and upper lip. His reflection in the small mirror was staring at him, peering at the anatomy of his face.

How long has it been since he has seen himself clean-shaven? Nigh ten years? Longer still?

The gaunt, lean face of a man was before him; the remnants of the boy he once was had matured. Together, they formed the persona of Killian Jones. Piracy was second nature to him now, but what about Emma? Despite being a thief, she was young to pursue a path covered with so many thorns. True, he had been younger still when he made his decision, but they came from different backgrounds. He had wanted to destroy his future because he had no dreams and no hopes. But she wanted a better life, for herself and Diane while the other girl had lived. Her faith in him and her courage showed that conviction had not changed.

His selfish mind was ignoring the inclination to point this out to her, that a normal life among society would never happen the moment she participated in acts of piracy. Until now, she had only defended him and nearly sacrificed her life for his. Theft did not equal the pursuits of a pirate. Did she really understand the gravity of such a choice?

Nonetheless, he would deal with that realization when she stumbled upon it. She knew what she was getting into and was aware of a pirate's reputation. Though she might desire to set herself apart from the archetype, the world would still judge her in the same way.

Then there was the issue of pirates themselves. The men aboard his ship seemed a decent lot, but as Cutler had demonstrated, you could not trust any man claiming such a vocation. Killian's own encounters at Tortuga and New Providence with the unruly lot of cutthroats had taught him how dangerous it was to cross swords with a fellow pirate. You earned their hatred and vengeance for as long as you survived. Ruthless, brutal, and greedy, they had earned every ounce of prejudice and disgust from the public's viewpoint. Most men were fugitives, hardened criminals, or deserters from various naval forces across nations.

Faced with such opponents, who were often cunning and calculating beyond measure, a pirate captain always stood alone. A woman who dared to challenge these rogues was in peril whether she could wield a weapon or not. Emma was an extraordinary woman, but he still feared for her and what could happen to her without his protection. They had proven that they were willing to die for each other ― a righteous, noble attitude that would get both of them killed one day.

A true pirate would cast her off without a second thought. Caring for anyone in this blackguard's trade was a weakness and a vulnerability.

But Killian Jones was not just a mere pirate. He was no longer one of those men, obsessed with treasure and whores and destruction ― a hypocritical fool stricken with wanderlust. Now he believed that success as a pirate only meant staying alive. Personal gain and the thrill of its pursuit were nothing to him.

In the past, he would have admitted to no one that what he wanted most was impervious to the roll of cannon fire or ricocheting bullets. He could not sail to every corner of the earth and capture it. He could not plunge into the depths of the sea and retrieve it like a pearl clinging to the ocean bottom. He could not find it in the beds of talented harlots.

Saving Emma Swan had altered the course of his ship and his life. He wanted, more than anything, to convince her of the truth in his heart. More than gold and power and success, he wanted  _her_.

Her principles were unshakeable, and he respected that. But what of her feelings? Did they truly have no hold over her? Would she not allow herself some measure of freedom or pleasure?

Slapping the wet cloth down on the table, he splashed water over his face and hair, then rubbed a bar of soap into a lather. He was sure to especially scrub at his neck, behind his ears, and under his arms, wistfully recalling his mother's admonitions to wash up. Then, blindly searching for the full pitcher of water, he dumped its contents over his entire head, using his free hand to rinse out any remaining suds from the doused curls plastered against his forehead and cheeks. Errant water crept trickled down his bare chest. He used the wet cloth to clean off soap residue from there and from his arms.

Damn it, he had forgotten to lay out a dry towel.

Attempting to blindly approach the small cabinet serving as a wardrobe for his garments, Killian was startled when he was handed the object of his search.

"Getting careless, Captain?" Doc tsked. "You're likely to slip when traipsing around like that. Thank goodness for my intervention."

"Couldn't you have bloody knocked?" he huffed after running the fabric over his eyes and dripping skin.

"I did. You happened to have water in your ears at the time. Don't tell me I frightened you?" He sounded amused by the prospect. "That would be quite bad news for your fearsome reputation."

Killian felt the sudden urge to run him out of the room. His nerves were already strung up high ― he didn't need any goading. "You took me by surprise, Doc," he said in a low voice, wary of being overheard. "That's all."

The doctor narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing him. It meant an unwanted conversation was in the near future. "Is something the matter? You look troubled."

For the first time since they had met, Killian did not want to confide in his old friend. Emma's feelings for him would be revealed in due time; they were not some trifle to be discussed like the day's weather. He had already hurt her once and had learned from his mistakes.

He forced a smile on his lips, glancing at the floor. "Truly, it's nothing. I am just tired from the week's activities."

Doc seemed to be analyzing his tone. Finally, he shrugged. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you're about to be worn ragged."

"And why is that, exactly?"

"Because Belle and I have joined forces. We are staying here, with Roland, while you are taking Emma off this ship and onto dry land where you two belong."

Pursing his lips, Killian tilted his head. He was ready to meet any challenge. "So that's how it is going to be now? My ship's surgeon and physician, ordering me about?"

He grinned, chuckling. "First of all, I'm the only surgeon aboard. Second, you can take it however you wish ― consider it doctor's advice, if you will. Anything to ease your conscience, Captain."

Killian rubbed the towel over his hair one last time, throwing it on the bed as he walked to his wardrobe. "Emma wishes to watch over the lad. She―"

" _She_  has been watching for days and nights on end, while Belle and Soupy have been practically slipping her meals under the door." Doc crossed his arms over his chest. "You're coddling her, Killian, and you know she does not like to be coddled. Are you a pirate, or aren't you?"

He snorted, throwing his old shirt on the hammock that served as his makeshift bed. "I recall your asking me to be a gentleman first and a pirate last,  _Doctor_."

"And I recall that being a gentleman, you fight for what you want, instead of just taking it."

"You do realize that the person we are speaking of is in the next bloody room?" Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, he took the clean clothes off the hammock. Then he motioned with his finger that Doc should turn around while he changed. He did so with a huff.

The leather trousers were a pain in the arse to pull off, but Killian managed to do it without losing his balance and toppling to the floor. Despite his fondness for those particular trousers, the alternative of cloth trousers was a blessing in disguise.

"Emma needs a gentleman, not a scoundrel," he gritted out, wincing when the belt buckle clipped his fingertips. In turn, his sword's scabbard poked his thigh. "She needs stability, for someone to put her first before himself. Given our history, I failed to do that ― and I will not fail her again."

He tugged his new coat on. Dark blue with black buttons, the fabric was smooth and soft to the touch, a fitting exchange for the tough black leather he usually wore. He decided against donning a cravat when a heated breeze blew in through the open porthole. His boots would be uncomfortable enough in these temperatures.

"Well, you certainly look the part. Don't forget to tie your shirt," Doc smirked.

Scowling, Killian left only the uppermost laces undone, leaving some of his chest exposed. He was not going to button up his formality of a coat. "Aye, Doc, a pirate's life ― it's forever. I bloody know that better than anyone." He sighed, running a hand through his still-wet hair. "But Emma is not just any woman, and our friendship is no game to me. I am willing to try harder, to be a better man for her. That means treading carefully and not upsetting the accord we struck when she joined my crew. I am trying to respect what she wants."

He cocked his head. "But you  _do_  feel for her. I always see that, especially when you're together."

"Aye, I do." A smile crossed his lips. There soon would be no walls between them. "She is...the most important part of my life. I want to make her happy. I want her to  _be_  happy, even if she does not desire more than a position on my ship."

Doc's gaze softened. He presented the satchel that had been lying near the door. "Then it seems I need say nothing else ― except wish you good luck."

* * *

Knocking on the door of his own room felt unnatural. But he himself had offered the comforts of the cabin to Roland, so there was no cause for complaint. Still, he missed his old quarters. His new room was a trifle small and more of a nook than a crewman's cabin.

Hands clasped behind him, hair combed back, Killian patiently waited for Emma to open the wooden barrier between them. The arresting sight that finally met his eyes was unexpected.

The several spools of cloth that had taken residence on his desk for the past weeks were hard to ignore. Their resplendent colors caught his notice, and he had guessed that new garments were in order ― but he had never imagined that blue linen could become such a stunning gown. Clearly, Emma had spent hours sewing, picking at stitches, and threading the needle to accomplish this feat on her own. From the thin sleeves to full, layered skirts, the design of the dress was flattering and sensational, despite the low hemline and modest neckline. He couldn't look away from how long waves of golden hair spun about her shoulders, crowning her face. For once, she was not wearing her customary boots. Dainty slippers, black with embroidered white flowers, embellished feet not clad in stockings.

All the while, her green gaze searched him, seeking out his reaction. It seemed she too was speechless from his appearance.

"Swan," he breathed out. "You look stunning."

There was a faint blush on her cheeks when she murmured back, "You...look..."

"Oh, I know." The tension had become unbearable, especially when less than innocent thoughts crept into his mind concerning her. He smirked, hoping to lighten the air for both of them. Doc was right ― there had to be a balance between the behavior of a pirate and that of a gentleman suitor. A predilection for either could lead to trouble. "Some would say, 'striking.' I prefer 'dashing.'"

"You know, you never seem to run out of adjectives to describe yourself." Raising a brow, she crossed her arms over her chest. The door clicked shut behind her.

He shrugged, still grinning. "And here I thought my nimble tongue was one of the things you liked about me," he purred, licking at his lips to emphasize his point. "Was I wrong?"

Her cheeks were now bright red. "How is it that you don't look at all like a pirate but still manage to act like one?"

"Oh, I think I'll leave you the task of solving that mystery. Revealing such a secret would ruin my charm, don't you agree?" He was unashamed to admit that he always enjoyed their heated banter, and he wasn't going to give it up for anything. It also was a sure method to keep conversation from growing too serious at the wrong moments.

She huffed, apparently conceding defeat. Inside, his heart uttered a relieved sigh. Despite the trouble such phrases could cause, the lascivious pirate had an easier time of warding off proclamations of love than the gentleman pirate did. Either he would yield to his own desires, sweep her into his arms, and beg her to be his, or he would go mad from disguising his true feelings.

He idly wondered if the linen was soft to the touch...if her skin would be soft as well. Pushing temptation to the side, he offered her his arm in escort, which she accepted, and they made their way above deck. He tried not to show how pleased he was by the number of times she peeked at him when she thought he wasn't looking.  _Must be the shave_ , he mused smugly.

Perhaps there was no safe way to proceed. Either path would lead to the same end: he loved Emma. A pirate thought only of himself. He loved her to the point that he was willing to sacrifice his own desires for hers. Doc's comments were only the tip of a very tall mountain of doubt. A gentleman made love to his lady, while a pirate lavished her with his body and his affections: the indirect and direct approach. Both were too extreme, as Emma was wary of their courtship to begin with.

What the bloody hell was he to do? He knew she cared for him, and she must be aware that he cared for her. Her stubborn spirit had created the boundary between beloved and lover; he would have no scruples or second thoughts if she agreed to share his bed. If only he could convince her that her status on the ship would not be influenced by their own relations ― persuade her that being his woman was not something to fear, that this would be no sin. They would be bound by love. He would only  _love_  her. He would not hurt her like Diane had been hurt, and he would never allow another to hurt her either. He would revere her, body and mind and heart. She meant more to him than Milah ever did.

They lived in an uncertain world, where death lurked around every corner. No human could say there was less risk on land than there was at sea. Piracy be damned. You had to live out every day, because that was all you were given. You only had the present.

"Killian." Her voice brought him from the depths of his struggling mind back to his tranquil ship. "The boarding plank is that way. You're taking us to the helm instead."

He mustered a broad smile, turning them in the right direction. "Apologies, love. My thoughts ran away from me."

Emma clearly wasn't fooled. She stopped short. "If you do not feel up to this, we don't have to go. We can stay."

"And be confined to the ship a moment longer?" He tried to brush off her concern with nonchalance. "I need fresh air and sand under my feet, the scent of the trees. I'm tired of seeing wooden walls."

She chewed on her bottom lip, looking up at him from under her eyelashes. "Do be honest, Captain. You love the  _Jolly_  and the smell of the sea. I don't believe your excuses one bit," she teased. Then her tone grew serious. "Killian, what is the real reason you are so distracted? Can I be of any help?"

His heart pounded wildly, but there was no escaping that bright, glittering gaze of hers. He was tongue-tied. "I–I..." He swallowed, chuckling wryly. "I'm just tired, lass. 'Tis nothing."

Like Doc, she didn't seem to believe that reply either, heaving a sigh as she examined the deck. Wanting to reassure her, he gently squeezed her hand, nestled in the crook of his elbow.

"You worry too much, Emma," he said, keeping his voice light. "Truly, I am fine, and I want to spend time with you today. Let's not delay our journey, shall we?"

"You're certain?" she insisted.

"Aye." He licked his lips, watching how she mirrored his action. Slowly, he leaned in to softly press his mouth over hers, pleased when she returned the kiss, tender and filled with emotion he could not speak of. All he could see afterwards was her beaming smile.

His chest felt much lighter as they descended the plank, reaching the docks with ease. He gave his ship one last glance before straightening his posture.  _And now, off to town we go._

* * *

She would be lying if she said she wasn't astounded by how much a simple shave could alter a man's appearance. True, Killian had always kept his beard trimmed short since she had met him ― but he had never cut it off altogether. The change took years off his face; it was wondrous how very young he looked without his usual stubble. Would anyone in Trinidad even realize that he was a ship's captain? With his sword hanging by his side, he looked like a newly enlisted naval soldier, off duty and on shore leave with his sweetheart. Emma blushed at that. With her sights fixed on his face, the many shops and small houses passed by her in a blur. He had promised they would not go too far, as the past week of nursing Roland had exhausted her...

"A coin for your thoughts?" With a roguish half-grin and wink, he pulled a gold coin from behind her ear and offered it to her.

She chuckled at his trick. "I was wondering over your lack of beard, actually."

"Ah, that." He shrugged. "It was high time for a full shave ― lice run rampant when sanitation is not kept aboard the ship. I asked Soupy to give my hair a trim as well."

"Are you saying I should cut off  _my_  hair?" she said, pretending to be indignant.

Tsking, he leaned over to nose the strands nearest his reach. She shivered from his deep exhale. "I may be many things, lass, but I never advocate the destruction of beauty."

"And if I were ugly?"

His eyes shone. "Impossible. There's light inside of you, Swan ― I have seen it. I do not believe that anything could ever change who you are."

From bold words and a superficial discussion to his affirmation that he supported her... Emma was at a loss. If she said too much, she might give herself away. That would be simple, but her life was complex and unbending to what she wanted from it. Her focus had always been needs. She needed to be alert and unwavering in denying her desires ― especially concerning Killian. He was so good to her, but what if―

"Would you like to have a look inside that shop?" He pointed at a narrow door wedged between two buildings. The sign indicated it held more than the usual merchandise.

After smiling her assent, she was led by the hand into the tiny store, where a chime jingled upon their entry. All four walls inside were covered with hundreds of books and scrolls.

Beautiful, leather-bound books. The room smelled heavenly, as if the words on all those pages would penetrate the air itself. Closing her eyes, she took a moment to savor the excitement and happiness coursing through her blood. That he would bring her to this place ― how had she and Belle missed it?

"Here lies the knowledge of the world," Killian said softly, fingering the volumes. His hand was still holding hers.

There was a bustling, shuffling noise toward the back, where there was another narrow entrance. A short, rather stout figure came out of it, wheezing heavily while pushing a pince-nez up his nose.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Jones, milady," he nodded at them, running a hand over his balding head. "Thank you for coming to look at my wares. I trust you are finding them to your satisfaction?"

Killian cleared his throat. "Thank you, Mr. Barnaby." He glanced at her and smiled. "I think we are quite enjoying the view. May we be permitted to browse?" He indicated the shelves.

The older man waved them on. "Of course, of course, anything for one of my best patrons." Turning, he yawned, then settled himself on a stepping stool to eat a roll of bread and sausages laid out on a napkin.

Shyly, she gazed at the titles engraved on the spines. Centuries of literature stood at attention, ready for her to seek them out. Killian had many books in his cabin, as did Doc. Now she knew where a good deal of them had come from.

"Milah and I stopped at this island several times during our voyages," he whispered by way of explanation. "This shop is a treasure, and Barnaby is a good soul. He never asked questions about our occupation, or who we really were ― he has a past of his own, an Englishman living in a former Spanish colony. He is willing to find rare books for me, and he respects my privacy. I value that confidence."

Instead of the pang of jealousy she was expecting, a sense of relief and longing filled her heart. She wanted to learn about his interests beyond sailing, see the things he loved. He trusted her with this part of himself, a part only Milah had known.

It was all she could do to not ogle him when she slid a book out from its resting spot and peeked at it. However, they both were soon engrossed in the stories they had found, and the world around them slipped away in the midst of silence.

Killian was currently gazing at a large scroll. It seemed that an old-looking world map had caught his notice, and he was wholly absorbed in it.

"Fascinating," he murmured, chewing on his lips, eyes roving every minuscule detail of the illustrations and script. Bound in white leather with gold leaf, a set of eleven numbered volumes sat by his feet on the floor, the uppermost one entitled "Atlas Maior" by the same author, Joan Blaeu.

Carrying a few selections of her own, Emma hesitated before standing next to him and gently resting her head on his shoulder, nuzzling her cheek against his sleeve. Was it alright for her to be intimate with him in public, since their courtship was rather unconventional?

"Just about ready, darling." He pressed a lingering kiss to her temple. Thankfully, Barnaby made no comment about the gesture.

After exchanging a few discreet words with the bookseller about the weather and the natives' upcoming festival, Killian paid for their purchases, insisting all the while that a gentleman always is generous towards a lady. Emma's books were his gift to her, and she was not to pay a farthing for them. Mr. Barnaby was all courtesy and gratitude as he wrapped each book carefully in thick parchment.

She rolled her eyes at that, secretly touched by his thoughtfulness. There was no way she would have been able to afford them herself. Aside from the fine cloth Belle had bargained for, Emma had needed to buy new undergarments for herself, as well as soap and fruit. She was tempted to ask Killian where he bought the kohl used to line his eyes, but decided against it because her funds were low and cosmetics were expensive. Perhaps she could borrow some from him. Money and physical necessities made her mind hurt. As if agreeing with her, her mouth opened in a sudden yawn.

Hefting their purchases on one hip to keep his balance, Killian wrapped his other arm around her waist. "Tired, love?"

She gave him a subdued smile. "Must be the heat."

He furrowed his brow. "Or you're hungry."

Before she could protest, he left her side and sauntered up to a vendor selling warm vittles. Local dishes, their unique spices coloring the air, called out to her growling stomach. However, while they were eating their meal, Killian was regarding her with more yearning than he did the food. His gaze followed her every move. While such marked scrutiny would be unnerving to some, his accompanying boyish smile was evidence of admiration, not concern. When short locks of dark hair fell in front of his eyes, her fingers twitched, longing to tuck the strands behind his ears.

Ducking her head, Emma concentrated on chewing slowly and not swallowing too much at a time. Of all her years, the last was one where she had never gone a day without food. Her limbs looked much stronger and her cheekbones were not pushing against her skin. Her body was healthy and nourished thanks to her captain's care for his crew.

Then there was his care for her ― incredible and overwhelming at times, for how could she repay him for all he had done?

On their stroll out of the main town, they by chance passed Leroy. He was on his way to the  _Jolly Roger_ , whistling merrily as he shouldered a leather pack of what seemed to be tinkering bottles. Most likely full of rum, if her suspicions were well founded. Groaning under his breath, Killian handed their package of books to him, with orders for it to be placed in his cabin and, being fragile, treated with care. Leroy saluted, his suggestive grin and waggling eyebrows causing Emma to frown at his retreating back. Just what did he think was in their heavy package?

As if in answer to her mood, the sky gradually became cloudy the farther they walked inland. Killian was determined to show her some of the natural sights the island was famous for, but she was worried that it would start to rain.

"There are hundreds upon hundreds of varieties of fowl that reside here, all of different shapes and sizes and plumage," he drawled, guiding her to what appeared to be a small glade.

True to his word, she had never seen so many birds in her life as those that were gliding on the water and resting on the shores. She only recognized ducks and geese, having seen the poor creatures hanging limp from the rafters of the butcher's shops in London. All those past Christmases, when she was too poor to buy herself something special to eat for the holiday...

It was far better to see these precious birds alive and well than dead and ready for someone's feasting.

Grateful that she had saved some of her rolls from their meal, Emma eagerly strode toward the residents of the small lake. True to their wild nature, they scurried back to the water, wary of her approach.

Glancing back, she saw Killian smirking at her with amusement, arms crossed over his chest. "That's not the best way to go about it, Swan."

He slowly swaggered over to her, certainty in every step. Had she thought he was less of a pirate? How wrong she had been. Scruff and black leather or not, he had the confident presence of a man who knew what he wanted and how to go after it.

Raising an eyebrow, he extended his hand. "Here, hand me the bread and I'll show you."

She stood back, hands clasped in front of her, and watched as he spread out some pieces on the thin shoreline, clucking quietly under his breath. Then he walked backward a few paces and sat down on his haunches, waiting.

Cautiously, several ducks waddled up to the pieces, smelling them before gobbling them up. On seeing their comrades' reassurance, the geese hurried behind them and tried to snatch some of the remaining breadcrumbs. Killian chuckled. From her viewpoint, she saw the softening of his expression, the peace in his eyes and kindness in his smile. He looked more boyish than ever, and it made her wonder if feeding the birds was something he had done with Darlie back in England, while she lived. It was saddening, that his love for wild things would at the same time be a reminder of a dear one he had lost.

Tropical fowl, with vibrant feathers and loud squawks, flew over to perch on high branches and view the encounter. Still more and more common birds came, asking for food with gurgles and cries. He obliged, throwing out more bread.

She began to be concerned when more than twenty birds surrounded him from all sides, all clamoring for him to feed them. A gaggle of geese urgently pecked at his trousers and boots, making him yelp.

"Bloody damn it," he shouted, tossing the rest of the bread at all of them before breaking into a run. The fowl parted frantically to evade his heavy boots, but the ones that were in front of him now were chasing from behind, following in his footsteps. His chest was heaving by the time he reached her. "Come on, love, let's go," he grunted, wide-eyed when angry shrieks and cooing rang in their ears. "Before they tear my bloody trousers off, come on!"

Pulling her by the hand, they traipsed through the greenery as fast as their legs could carry them. Emma said breathlessly, "What happened to the fierce pirate captain who fears nothing?"

He snorted, almost tripping over a tree root. "I'm not afraid. But those damn birds were ready to bite me in the arse, as it were."

His offended tone and disgruntled pout made her burst into laughter. "You sound like you have been slighted," she giggled, threading her arm through his when their run slowed to a halt. Killian shrugged, nonchalant now that the hungry birds were far out of sight.

Chewing on her lip, Emma struggled against her curiosity, but it won the fight. "You've done this before, haven't you?" She lifted her skirt so she wouldn't trip over it. "Here, with Milah. In England, with...your sister."

He swallowed, staring straight ahead. "Aye, though Milah couldn't care less for it and Darlie was too young to really understand. These birds are free, but the ones in the gardens near our house had pinioned wings. They could never fly away. The pond and its greenery were beautiful, but still a prison for them." His eyes bored into her. "And there was nothing I could do. I could not save them, anymore than I could save myself."

"You did what you could," she whispered, wishing she herself could believe the same regarding Diane. "That is what counts most. You have to see the best in yourself, not the worst. I choose to see the best in you."

Smiling sadly, he pressed a kiss into her hair. "And I you, my lass," he breathed.

* * *

Naturally, it started drizzling the moment they figured out that their sight-seeing was done for the day but they had no idea where they were. No landmark seemed familiar, with dozens of wide trees hiding the view of the shore. There was no way to tell in which direction the town was.

The rain fell in a series of fierce showers, fat drops plunking down on their skin. Squinting, she noticed a tree with dense leaves and long, overhanging branches that touched the ground.

"Quick, there's no rain falling there," she pointed out. Hand in hand, they ran toward it together, skirting the small forming puddles on the ground.

Even under the shelter of the tree, there was no escaping the fact that their clothes were completely wet. How was her dress going to dry without the warmth of sunlight? They had no blankets and the torrent pounding around them made it impossible to reach the  _Jolly._

Killian was even more drenched than she, wringing water out of his coat sleeves and failing to keep them from wrinkling meanwhile. "What a fantastic ending to the day," he muttered, tugging on his clothes, "getting soaked to the bone after being attacked by ungrateful birds."

"I thought this was the dry season." She sighed at how her sleeves were sticking to her limbs like a second layer of skin.

He shook his head. "Passing storms are always common to this region, though Trinidad evades the worst of it." His lips curved. "Scared to be caught here alone with a charming rapscallion like myself?"

With a grin of her own, she tossed her hair back. "I doubt many would think you a pirate at this moment."

"I could say the same to you." His smile became sultry. "Does this mean you approve of me regardless?"

Emma was suddenly aware of how his attire clung to his form, outlining the handsome physique underneath. Judging by the ravenous gleam in his eyes, the state of her apparel was most likely affecting him as well. A brazen heat started to spread throughout her body, from her face to her stomach. She didn't need the sun to warm her. Killian's leer was scorching enough.

"You have not answered my question, Swan." His voice was husky.

She began to breathe heavily as well. Why was she fighting herself so much, when the truth was inevitable? Her self-control lessened, and she no longer knew what she was resisting.

"You're right," she heard herself whisper. "I want to know all of you."


	28. Chapter 28

One hand sought the line of his jaw, roving upward until his bare cheek was under her fingertips, her thumb caressing a scar near his cheekbone. Then her gaze drifted downward, lingering on the golden compass hanging proudly on the chain around his neck, the clear blue stone resting above her heart.

Every inch of his being felt out of his control, as if he were watching this scene from a distance and could not interfere. His skin was feverish, his blood rushing to reach his head and pound some reason into it.

She had said she _wanted_ him. She had announced it, loud and clear.

Milah had said the same, once. She was audacious and adventurous, old enough to take risks and go after what she wanted. But Emma was younger, thrust into this new world where men didn't offer apologies for the wrongs they had done, and no one cared who was wronged unless it was they themselves. Looking into her eyes, he saw the uncertainty, the shy desire.

He would not be the man to shatter the innocence she still possessed, no matter how brave she was. But bloody damnation, how much he longed to kiss her in this moment...

Instead of leaning in to capture her lips, he ushered her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. She was trembling in his embrace, her mouth vulnerable and soft. Her breaths were short, warming his skin.

He also wanted her. It was killing him not to tell her that. However, he had to set aside his desire for a moment of pleasure and think of what was best for her. She had stated that a dalliance with him was not something she wanted ― proving she was the more rational of the two of them.

If she wanted to tread that path, it would be on her own terms. This was her battle, not his. He knew where he stood.

"Killian, your heart is racing," she whispered, nuzzling into his shirt.

His arms tightened their hold on her, and he swallowed hard, wrestling with the turmoil burning inside his chest. The soft pattering of rain, splattering and dripping onto tree leaves in its haste to hit the ground, was the only sound that interrupted the torturous silence.

Never had he been so conflicted about acting on his feelings before. If a woman chose him, he was more than willing to reciprocate. With Emma, it was so damn complicated. He should have known from the start ― from the instant that she was hauled unconscious onto his ship, like a treasure from the sea ― that nothing between them could ever be simple.

Now, more than ever, he knew that to be true. With closed eyes and gritted teeth, he prayed for forbearance, for the willpower to ignore that tugging sense of conquest that he had succumbed to for years as a voracious pirate.

No one said that trying to change for the better would be easy either. But he was determined to try ― _bloody hell_ , was he determined. Perhaps if he focused on his love for her, that helpless ache that she filled by just being near him, he could survive those reckless temptations that urged him to give in.

The light she had brought into his life would not be dimmed because of him behaving like a bloody fool.

"We need a fire." He sighed into her hair. It was still raining heavily. Searching for pieces of wood in the midst of that downpour would not be easy. "I'll be fortunate if I can find sticks that are not too damp to burn."

Leaving her with a soft kiss on the forehead, he reluctantly ventured forth.

* * *

All her life, a cacophony has surrounded Emma: the rattle of carriages, angry men shouting in the streets, children crying for their mothers, the violent din of the city in all its indifference to the fate of its inhabitants. Even on the _Challenger_ and the _Titan_ , there never was a quiet moment ― perhaps in the hold of either ship, where cargo and vermin were the only instigators of turmoil. London was a cesspit of loneliness, but during the times she was wholly alone, scraping by on stale bread and worthless soup, the voices outside were nothing in comparison to the clamor inside her head from so many conflicted thoughts.

Here and now, in the wilderness of this magical island, she could believe in anything and be anyone. There were no obligations, no needs to be met, no promises to keep.

She was with the man she loved and they could choose to be together. She could let herself believe that this handsome pirate ― her captain ― her _friend_ ― loved her back, in all the ways she wanted to be loved.

His touch and his words had the potential to hurt her. But both could also bring her immeasurable happiness, which she desired with all her heart.

What would Diane say, if she asked her now for advice? Would her dear friend tease her relentlessly, tell her that now Emma could understand what it meant to love a man?

Slowly, she slipped out of her wet dress and unlaced her corset, shivering in her chemise. Being so scantily clothed in public was already against propriety. Letting another see her in such a state was unthinkable. But she was freezing in those wet garments, so standing in dry but thin unmentionables was a necessary evil, no matter if Killian saw her in them or not.

Clutching at her gown, she leaned back against the tree trunk, hoping that he would return soon. She could not think or reason, not when her mind was so confused. All this time, she had talked about how they could not be a couple, that they had to keep their distance from each other for the sake of her virtue and his reputation.

Was that all for naught?

It seemed that she had been lying to herself for months, avoiding her true feelings. Still, she hesitated. Once she made that leap into his arms and held nothing back, she could not erase words that had been said or deeds that would be done.

Well, to hell with it. To hell with all of it — the boundaries she had created, wanting so desperately to convince herself that she was not in love with him, and the delusion she swore by, where her body and soul did not long for his.

Like a gust of wind, Killian reemerged, sweeping up the branches with one arm while the other braced twigs against his chest. Dropping them on the ground, he gave her a breathtaking smile before hunching down to assemble the wood into a neat pile. After he found his flintstone, he managed to light their bonfire into a roaring seat of flame and warmth.

How ironic, that the heat she needed was not to be sought by physical fire, but a human one.

"With your permission, milady." He gestured to his soaked shirt.

"Of course," she nodded. As she watched him disrobe, she struggled to remain calm.

Left in only his trousers, he made quite the sight, rain droplets running down his bare neck and shoulders until they outlined other regions, including his pendants — and her compass. _Her compass, resting so near his heart..._

Her insides clenched. He really was beautiful.

"Dashing, darling. You are the one who is beautiful," he added slyly with a salacious wink.

She could sense that she was blushing hard, embarrassed and frustrated that he heard her outburst. A nobody like her, touch a man like him? It was surprising that he would even like her, that he had not found another to fancy. With so many women at his disposal, he could be with anyone.

_And yet here he was, with her._

"You truly do not believe it." Somehow, he had sidled up to her, near enough that her hand could reach out for his.

"What do I not believe?"

He gently brushed some errant curls to the side of her face. "How beautiful you are. How much I admire you, for much more than what I see."

"You couldn't possibly." She licked her lips. "I've never been worthy."

"Worthy?" He was incredulous. "Emma Swan, you fought for me. You suffered on my account. You have shown me more loyalty and caring than any woman I have ever encountered. And I love you for it, y'hear?"

Her mouth must have been gaping open, because he continued, "Aye, I love you, lass. I love your courage, your heart — even your bloody principles and your damn obstinacy. I love you, more than anything on this earth. You have shown me that goodness can survive despite any obstacles. You have convinced me that love is always worth the cost."

Emma was not one to swoon. However, at this moment, her head was spinning. He _loved_ her? And though she at first doubted it, the truth in his eyes said otherwise.

Her knees began to shake.

"Bloody hell, you're catching a chill. Here, love — come near the fire. We'll dry your dress." When she made no move toward it, he guided her there, hand at the small of her back. Her dress was indeed hanging on an extended branch, though she did not believe that the wet air and mild wind would aid the cloth to dry.

He had folded and placed his own coat right by the flames, so she could be seated on something other than rotting leaves and damp ground.

Rubbing her hands together, she nearly jumped up when he covered her with his vest, which was somehow dry.

"What about yourself?" She drew the garment tighter to her skin.

He shrugged, settling down next to her. "I'll be alright, lass," he offered with a smile. "I have been in worse scrapes than this. I am concerned for _you_."

Bowing her head, she took a moment to ponder his declaration of love — and the fact that he was now acting as if he had said nothing at all. One furtive glance told her all she needed to know.

He was frightened. His clenched jaw, the sadness in his eyes... He thought that she was appalled by the truth. It was she who had protested any further developments between them besides their tentative courtship, who had insisted on a purely platonic relationship.

Therefore, it must be she who told him otherwise. She would dispel that fear.

She would reveal the depths of her longing heart to him.

Words eluded her as she stared at his profile, overcome by shadow in the light of the fire. He could not possibly believe that she did not care for him—

"Killian."

He turned, facing her.

"I confess that I am not good with words," she began slowly. "That it is immeasurably difficult for me to speak my mind fully, to hold nothing back. My fears are greater than my desire for honesty."

He seemed about to speak, so she hurried onward. "But there is something I am absolutely sure of — for quite some time now, and I've been unable to say it aloud, with so much fear impeding my way. Fear of the future, fear of others. However, despite all that has happened... My heart is still beating. And every beat is filled with love for you, Killian — love that cannot be denied or suppressed, love that has conquered those fears I hid behind to avoid the truth. I love you, now and always. I have faith in us. We can face the world, together."

Then, leaning forward, she sealed her words with a kiss.

* * *

Elation and shock.

He was shocked because he never dreamed she would reciprocate his feelings so strongly.

He was elated beyond words that she did love him ― _she loved him_ ―

The warmth of her in his arms brought him back down to earth. He must be sure of her feelings.

"Wait, darling," he whispered, unwilling to part with her lips even as he did. "Are you certain about this? You know you have nothing to fear from me or my crew. Your presence is cherished, respected ― you are welcome aboard the _Jolly Roger_ , as a crewmember and dear friend, for as long as you wish."

"This is not about my position on the ship or our friendship," she whispered back fiercely, palms pressed up against his chest. "This is about you and me."

"As lovers? You wish to be involved with a filthy pirate such as myself?" He half-smiled, hoping she didn't notice how much his hands were shaking. Dear Lord, he wanted her. And his self-control was weakening under the power of her determined gaze, with her sights set on his soul.

She gently brushed her lips over his knuckles. "We are both pirates, Killian. I would do anything to protect you, as you have done for me. It is true that for years, being a pirate is all you have known, but you must know that it does not define you. I love the captain who gave me a home on his ship ― the pirate who fought through soldiers to save me ― the gentleman who rescued a pregnant cat and a broken boy from the streets ― the man who believes in love and honor. We have both done terrible things in the name of love, but that does not diminish how great our love is. Do you believe me?"

"Aye, I do." How could she expect him not to, when she was looking at him like that? He would walk through fire and water to be by her side. _If loving me is what you truly want, I will not deny you._

"Good. That's settled, then." As her fingers curled around the nape of his neck, she rose up to kiss him again.

Her mouth on his was maddening. It was all he could do not to lunge inside with quick strokes, his tongue circling around hers before they finally mingled. Her soft moans awakened something in him, a reckoning that was long overdue. His hands found her waist, holding her close to him. After pulling apart for air, he returned her affection threefold, lengthening the kiss until she was sighing into him, angling her head so that he could deepen their connection even more.

Nothing burned as much as when she touched him.

Emma peered up at him through heavily lidded eyes. Then she glanced downward at her chemise, tantalizingly transparent but still thick enough to conceal details about her lovely form.

When she started to undo the laces in front, he panicked. "What are you doing?"

The vixen smirked at him. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

His jaw dropped. "Apologies, lass, but have you gone mad? As I recall, this is the last possible thing you would do."

The neckline dropped precariously low, down to the swell of her breasts.

"Why is it so shocking?" she murmured, reaching for his hands and guiding them there. "Are you shocked that I want you to touch me this way?"

"No, but..." He swallowed, wetting his tongue. The sudden thought of dreams fulfilled, where his beautiful Swan lay beneath him, trembling from untold passion, scorched his chilled flesh in an instant. "Why? Why now?"

Her body was right next to his, her chest almost touching his. "You are asking that after you just made love to me?"

 _Enough with the bloody questions._ His mind was warring with every opposite notion in his being that begged him to stop being such a damn gentleman and start being a pirate again. What about her innocence? What about preserving her virtue with his life?

"Emma, you would be giving me...your very self." He caught her wandering hands. "Do you understand what you are asking of me, of us? Once we begin, it will be difficult to stop. Beyond this moment is the path before us, our lives on the ship and elsewhere. I do not doubt your wishes, but I only ask..." He sighed. "Please think carefully about your choice. Do you really want this? Afterwards, there will be no undoing what has been done."

"You wished to bed me before."

"Aye, I did." He crooked an eyebrow. "If we're being bloody honest, I still do."

"Then what's changed?" she pleaded.

" _We_ both have, tremendously ― and I'm all the better for it, love." He raised her fingers to his lips. "I do desire you. I always have. I desire and love you, but I want you to choose what is best for you."

She bowed her head, not meeting his eyes. Remorse flooded him. Did she think he was rejecting her?

All around them, rain swept across the land. Nature in all its fullness, void of company, vivacious and resplendent. This was the world he wanted her to see and wanted to show her. There was so much beauty hidden behind the ugliness that they had experienced since birth, so much promise.

These circumstances were terrible. They were both soaking wet, with no dry clothes to change into. He was undressed to the waist, she in only her chemise. How was a man to maintain his self-restraint?

His throat tightened. If he were to love her in that manner, it would be in his quarters ― in his own bed, where he could ensure that she would feel the utmost pleasure and comfort from their union. Here, he could only offer her mud, debris and a meager fire.

"Emma... Come now, lass. Smile for me. It's not the end of the world that we are stuck under this tree for the time being." He lifted her chin. "Let's rest a while, aye? Here, next to me."

She still said nothing, but she did sit down beside him, backs against the wide tree trunk.

The bark was scratching at his skin, and his arse was quite uncomfortable from all the twigs poking at the tender flesh. Watching her, he noticed how she blushed when she saw him ogling her bare legs, which had escaped from under her skirt. She quickly covered them, intent on removing her wet slippers and stockings. Killian chuckled to himself. The one instance she decided not to wear her boots, the heavens were unkind.

"My feet are cold." Tossing both items away, she winced on touching bare skin again. "I'm afraid the fire is not helping remedy that."

"May I?" He deposited her feet in his lap, using his hands to warm them. "Bloody hell, love, you _are_ freezing. Come here," he beckoned.

Perhaps he was being a bloody fool for offering, but the feeling of Emma Swan in his arms, embracing him tightly with little between them — absolutely glorious.

He had loved Milah, aye. But his love for Emma was tantamount to dancing among the stars themselves. These moments spent with her were heavenly.

Staring into the fire, he envisioned their future, one where they were never separated. Did she not know that all he possessed was hers? She had captured his heart long before he realized it.

"Killian?"

"Aye, darling?"

She pressed her lips to his throat. "My mouth is cold. Would you please warm it for me?"

Indeed, it was chilled. Instead of shying away, he dove headfirst into the sweetness of her, the ardor of her affections. Again and again, he visited her lips, savoring them and the feel of her skin under his hands. She kissed him back just as passionately, fingers threading through his hair.

He was as reckless as she was emboldened. He was what she wanted, and she was his greatest treasure. No power on earth would keep him from her.

His lips explored the length of her neck, traveling at a slow, steady pace, while her hands slid down to grip his shoulders. Soft sighs met his ears, encouraging him to continue.

The chain of the necklace brushed his nose. Then Emma shifted in his arms so that they were face to face. "Please," she whispered, arching her back. Her pale skin was rosy along her chest. He swallowed involuntarily at the sight of her rising bosom, straining against her thin shift. "I know nothing about these things, but... I desire you. You are my teacher, and I trust you. Teach me."

Those tumultuous words, filled with risk and daring and danger, opened up a furnace within him, one that he had previously had to force shut. His inhibitions were on the brink of collapse.

His fingers were the first to disobey, gliding slowly up her arms and then dipping down. They paused right before the tempting neckline, an unspoken question.

She gave him a small smile in what seemed to be encouragement. It was better if he explained beforehand.

"Darling, this is rather awkward to speak of, but you do understand what happens between a man and woman—"

"For God's sake, Killian, I'm inexperienced, not unaware," she huffed.

He chuckled. "Well, since we have that out of the way, I must ask if you have knowledge of what occurs prior to an act of consummation." She looked puzzled. Licking his lips, he continued, "Despite what society wishes ladies to accept as truth, these matters should be enjoyable for both parties involved. Pirates are the crude sort, but they are well-versed in the knowledge of what is required in a woman's bedchambers. I too acquired such information during all these years of roaming. What I do not want is for you to be afraid, love."

"Afraid of what?"

"All of it. Believe me when I say I have honorable intentions toward you. However," he smirked, "now that you have assured me that I have won your heart — well, that's when the fun begins."

"Fun?"

"Aye." He leaned in and gently kissed along the curve of her shoulders. Her entire body shuddered. "It means I wish to step slowly where you are concerned. Very slowly. I wish for our courtship to continue on all fronts, no matter what occurs today."

"What will occur today?" she asked in a breathy voice, clearly flustered and excited.

The ache to satisfy her curiosity and put an end to his own suffering overwhelmed him. In one swift movement, he eased her loosened chemise down to her waist, exposing her bare chest to him. The wondrous new view, and her crimson blush, pleased him all too much. She did indeed want him.

With her hands firmly on his shoulders and his mouth within reach of her, he was past hesitation and past resistance. The pirate in him was agonized, dying for another taste of his beautiful lady, while that damned gentleman's honor struggled.

Bloody hell, he was frustrated. She was right in front of him, they were alone in the midst of a tropical paradise and caught in a storm — by God, he must have this moment with her. An intimate moment, where they completed the partnership they had already started months before. He would have nothing less than all of her, body and heart and soul. It was _their_ love, joined together, that helped him live through each day.

The last thing he saw before his head dipped downward and his hands discovered her was how her eyelids fluttered shut and her lips parted open — and then, as he began to fulfill his promise of bodily love, he reveled in the marvelous echo of Emma Swan's moans.

Those sounds of pleasure, growing louder and wilder and bolder.

Her pleas, her sighs, her cries of his Christian name.

Her nails, digging into his skin, and that angelic smile...

All propelled him forward and gave him the final push to fall.

And fall he did, over the edge of madness.

It was more incredible than he had ever dreamed of.

* * *

The first thought that crossed Emma's mind as she awoke was that she was unusually warm. The second, that there was a slow thrumming under her ear — silly her, that was most certainly a heartbeat—

Killian's heartbeat.

Her cheek outlined the contours of his chest, the top of her head tucked right under his chin. Judging by his slow breathing, he was asleep. They must have fallen asleep together, afterwards...

Her face burned hotly. He had been true to his word, not pushing too far, not seeking too much. By all accounts, she was still a maiden. But when his eager mouth and quick tongue and roaming hands touched her flesh, rousing delights and demands from deep within her, she had lost control of herself. Emma Swan was not that writhing, moaning wretch who begged her lover for one more well-placed caress and one more kiss. She was not a desperate girl, in need of such things.

Yet in his arms, she had been shameless. God, how she had begged him and clung to him, clawing at his hair and the planes of his back, not understanding what was happening to her body but somehow knowing exactly what it all was. He had asked for nothing from her, leaving her bathed in sweat and a state of bliss unknown to her all her life. Her bones were nonexistent, her limbs limp and weak. Mindlessly, she had kept kissing him, again and again and again, hoping to prolong the thrills running through every fiber of her being.

When she had finally come back to her senses, she noticed differences in his appearance. His face was red, he was exhaling hard, his eyes drifted repeatedly over the breadth of his lap...

She had followed the direction of his marked glances. The upper half of his trousers were wet, covered in liquid. The rain? She had not felt or seen any moisture there before.

When she had inquired why, he turned his face away, biting on his bottom lip, unable to look at her. Relentless, she had pressed him for an answer — which he had reluctantly given, after much coaxing.

 _Oh_ , she had murmured, understanding his embarrassment and realizing her own. _She was not as informed about bodily functions as she had thought._

There they had stayed, as entwined as the tree's massive branches, dry and heated beyond imagining, their skin golden from the smoky haze of the fire. She and he, unclothed to their waists, gasping and breathless, gazing upon each other's naked form. Her face buried in the crook of his neck, enjoying how her chest was pressing into his. Running his palms down her back, combing her hair with his fingers, he soon guided her mouth back to his, not content to kiss her just once. It was she this time who let her fingers wander over his torso, eliciting deep groans from him.

They must have both been lulled to rest by the quiet rhythm of the rain. Now it was a sporadic dripping among the leaves, freeing them to return to the ship.

She didn't want to leave. Though she would never forget this day, here they were separate from the reality awaiting them on the _Jolly_. He would be its captain again, and she...

Well, what would she be now? Killian's mistress?

She had submitted to the most erotic — _only erotic_ — experience of her life. She had admitted that she was his, that her heart was his. Whether she regretted that or not, it had happened. He had seen her the way no man had ever seen her, had explored her body. Surely that alone changed things. And though he had not taken her to bed, he would expect that to occur in the near future. Damn it, now _she_ expected it, too. She would be waiting for it—

"Hmm, the storm has stopped." A slow smile crossed Killian's lips as his eyes opened. "The auspicious moment to depart has arrived."

Just looking at him made her want to repeat the afternoon's events all over again. Stroking his cheek, she whispered, "We should dress."

His answering smirk was as endearing as it was outrageous. "You know, Swan, I do believe I prefer your present state of attire. Very becoming." She slapped his shoulder. "Oi, it's a compliment, woman!"

"You should not say such things," she stammered, trying to sound chagrined. She _should_ feel guilty — she was _wicked_ —

"Aye." He framed her face with his hand. "Lass, all jesting aside..." He kissed her fingers. "Thank you for affording me the great honor and pleasure of loving you. I admire your strength and resilience, so please heed me when I say that there is no blame or fault in what we did. I do not want you to be troubled because of worries about the world's judgment. I am not. I do not regret what we shared. I will always choose you, Emma. I will always put you first. This is my vow to you."

And she was at a loss for words, heart pounding erratically. It was she who should stop being so afraid.

"Killian..." She removed his hand from her cheek, pausing before she placed it firmly over her bared breast. With stuttering breaths, he caressed its underside and then its nipple. "I want _you_ , more than anything. Our love won't stop us from being who we are."

His smile was radiant before he leaned in to kiss her. "My darling, I couldn't agree more."


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sadly, inevitably, unavoidably, this is the FINAL chapter. I know I promised more, that I had such big plans for this story, but...all good things must come to an end. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy what I've come up with.

She blinked, cursed, then blinked again. The elegant cursive ink did not alter, nor did the words change. The letter in front of her, stiff parchment only available to the wealthy, reminded her that this was real.

Diane's child was real. The son of her ill-fated romance was alive and well.

And he needed Emma.

A ragged sigh escaped her before she hurriedly stuffed the letter beneath her corset and fixed a false smile on her lips. This was not news to discuss in a noisy, crowded tavern among the rest of the crew.

She had to speak to Killian — alone.

Her heart lurched like the  _Jolly_  when she saw him approach the main table, sharing roars of laughter with his men and placing wagers in advance, no doubt. Would he understand? Would he accept her responsibility the way she had years before, hiding it from everyone because she didn't know how to be a mother?

She still didn't.

Roland was there, by Doc. It was hard to believe that he had grown so quickly, now a bold youth instead of a frightened boy. He tried to take a sip of the man's rum but the good doctor wouldn't let him, scowling in reprimand. When Belle swooped by, gulping down the glass's contents in one fell swallow, the entire crew cheered. Killian lowered his head to whisper something in the boy's ear, clapping him on the shoulder. His mischievous grin warmed her more than the ale she had chosen, an excuse to leave present company so she could have a moment's peace and read her correspondence.

All these years, she had been sending her wages every month, saving what she could for herself. Every day, she had held back her friend's deepest secret from the person she loved most in the world. It had been tempting at times to reveal the truth to him, when they were in the throes of passion and nothing was between them in their quarters but her own misgivings and lingering distrust.

Killian would dismiss her from his crew and his ship if he knew. She was now the sole guardian of a bastard child. She could not raise a little boy on a pirate ship.  _But he took in Roland. Did she really think so little of him_ , her heart argued?

He wanted to reunite Milah with her son. Why would he hold Emma in contempt when he clearly felt a deep affection for Roland and treated him like his own flesh and blood? The orphan she had rescued from Trinidad was now a sailor under the captain's wing, beloved by his fellows. He had a future and a life of his own. He looked up to Killian as if he were his father.

She could offer Henry the same, even if it would not be the life of comfort his mother would have wanted for him.

However, Emma had long put the past to rest. She was not to blame for her friend's choices or their consequences. She had made Diane a solemn promise: to care for Henry should anything happen to Regina, the lonely widow who had adopted him as an infant during one of the  _Titan_ 's brief stops inland. Diane's locket belonged to him, once he was old enough to understand.

The yellow fever had come and gone, leaving the boy alone.

Regina was dead.

Emma was now the only mother Henry would ever come to know.

 _I can't be a mother_. Her desperation turned into panic.

Far across the room, he called to her. He extended his hand, a mesmerizing smile on his face. After they had consummated their love, nothing had been the same. If she thought she could imagine the true heights of happiness before then, she was wrong. The way he looked at her was the only treasure she would ever need.

Blinded by tears, she tore through throngs of men, pushing and shoving until she was out the door.

If she had more courage, she would leave tonight. Leave him forever than risk a broken heart when he told there was no place for a child on his ship.

She might have done that before she understood what it was like to be in love and be loved. That was when she was only bound to her word.

Now she was bound to Killian Jones. Both bonds were meant to last a lifetime.

* * *

Her feet couldn't pound faster against the cobblestones. She walked like a soldier marching to death, pressing onward while seeing nothing.

"Emma."

She didn't stop.

"Emma, darling, where are you going?"

Gritting her teeth, she turned back, both hands clenched into fists. "Isn't obvious, Captain? I'm heading home, back to the ship."

He gave her a roguish smile. "But I rented us a room, darling. We deserve some privacy after all these months at sea, don't you agree?" The smile turned quite saucy, his teeth and tongue glinting at her with clear intent. The dark couldn't conceal the growing hunger in his eyes. "And I know at least one of us — both, I hope — is looking forward to what kind of activities happen inside that room. Pleasurable activities. Activities that include your full and prompt attention."

Her lower lip trembled as heat flushed her face, but she stood firm. "I can't, Killian. I need...I need to set sail for Plymouth. Immediately."

"Plymouth?" He made a face of discontent. "Why, love, would you ever want to dock at that gloomy, contentious town? Not to mention that unlike our Caribbean brethren, American colonials have absolutely no tolerance for passing pirates, even if they bring gold. I suppose we could stop there if you're truly interested in seeing the sights."

Her blood was racing. He thought she was toying with him, that this was not a serious request.

Telling the truth directly had never been her forte. Glancing at him, his predatory stance and how every tense limb indicated how much he wanted her, she realized there was only one course of action. Slipping her hand underneath, she withdrew the letter from its hiding place and silently handed it to him.

He looked puzzled as he unfolded it. "What's this, Swan?" He squinted to read the fine handwriting in the dim lamplight. "A Regina Mills summons you to Plymouth, on the event of her imminent death? To retrieve...Henry?"

She nodded. "Her son. Now, my son."

He gaped back at her. "I'm afraid I do not understand."

Where to begin? "Ever since we met, I've hidden this from you. That when Diane became ill, it was not merely from heartache." She took a deep breath. "She was pregnant. She was with child and then after she gave birth, she chose to entrust her son to a distant relative, one who had expressed longing for a child once. I was to become his guardian on the condition something happened to Regina. And it has. I...I've sent money every month since, to help with his upkeeping and expenses."

Killian appeared to be stunned by her admission. The letter fell from his fingers to the ground. She bent to pick it up.

"Are you honestly telling me, darling, that all this time...?" His voice was raw and husky. "You've been caring for Diane's child? And you never told me?"

He sounded so hurt that it frightened her. "I wanted to tell you — every moment, every day, every night we spent together," she urged. "But she made me swear to keep it a secret—"

"You doubted me. You doubted my confidence and my sense of honor."

"No!"

"Really, love?" He peered about to see if anyone was listening. The streets were near empty at this late hour. His gaze found hers again, never wavering. "Then why? Don't tell me you were afraid of my reaction."

The way he said that, mockingly, turned her fear into rage. "Yes, I was afraid, you idiot! I was afraid that you would reject me and him. I was afraid that I would lose you. I was afraid you would tell me to leave." Her anger burned brighter. "And I was afraid because I love you too much to let you go—"

In an instant, he pulled her into his arms. The intimate gesture broke her composure into pieces. She started to cry.

"There, now, my dear," he whispered, caressing her hair. "I can never stay upset with you for long, and you know it. We've had our disagreements over the years, but we've always reached an accord afterwards." Brushing the stray curls from her face, he cupped her cheeks. "How old is this Henry?"

Her vision blurred anew. "He'll be five."

Killian stared into her eyes for a long time. He didn't release her from his embrace meanwhile.

"Well, Miss Swan," he finally said, "it seems we are to welcome a new member to our illustrious home. However, I do have a question."

Hope came back to her. "Yes, Captain Jones?"

He grinned. "Is the lad going to be sharing our chambers? Because that will simply not do. Roland was trouble enough, remember — and after all, lass, a man and his lady love need the use of their bed more the stars need the sky—"

She choked on a laugh before flinging her arms around him.

His reply was to carry her back to the tavern, murmuring reassurances of his love every step of the way.

* * *

The air was still wet and cool from last night's brief monsoon, the sun now shining benevolently, and the waves were subsequently calm in the aftermath. But she could still feel that familiar nudge that only danger could give ― and her instincts have not failed her yet. Relying on them has kept her alive since she was old enough to fend for herself.

Taking a determined stance by the bulwarks, Emma stared out at the milky pink horizon, willing for the surrounding landmass to disappear in the light of dawn so that she could be reassured by the vacant stretch of sea and sky. After the attack they had just sustained, another could not be endured in such a short period of time. The  _Jolly_  might be Queen Anne's "favorite," but humans had limits, and so did ships made of wood.

"You're troubled, aren't you?"

One could always count on Doc to be inquisitive and straightforward, if not overly blunt ― especially when he was acting as a worried friend and not as the ship's surgeon.

"I can't dismiss it," Emma admitted reluctantly. "There's this feeling that something is out there: an enemy vessel, a wreckage, a disaster... I only know that whatever it is, it is not good."

"Nightmares again?" he asked, sounding concerned.

She shook her head, running a restless hand through her hair. "Since the storm ended, I..." She bit her lip. "I've been manning the helm for too long to not recognize the signs when I see them."

Doc chuckled. "Well, you've been first mate for nigh five years ―over a decade of experience by now. Of course, you would have acquired a mariner's sixth sense. Sea dogs are supposed to be senile and wrinkled, correct?" he teased.

"Oh, you're a bundle of laughs! I wonder if your wife would agree with you." When Emma rolled her eyes to emphasize the sarcasm in her reply, he only chortled harder.

As the sky reddened, several more voices could be gradually heard on deck. "How can you honestly believe that? The developments of science all point to other possibilities―"

"The force of the moon―"

"Sure," Leroy muttered sarcastically. "Gravity is what's keeping us standing 'stead of floating in the air, and why the stars ain't falling down on our heads. Belle, can't you recognize a crook when you hear one? That Newton sap was one conniving bastard, spreading such drivel and telling people that it's all  _fact_."

"Well, actually―" Smee began before a familiar feminine voice cut him off.

"Leroy, you're not being fair. I've read several treatises ― Galileo's work as well ― and Newton's theories seem sound."

There was no arguing against Belle's well-researched opinions, formed during long library visits when they were ashore, but Grumpy persisted nonetheless, and the sight of the three of them debating whether gravitation was a hoax or a scientific wonder ― in the early morning, no less ― made Emma want to laugh. Smiling as well, Doc joined Belle's side, greeting her with a light kiss.

No crew had ever been more eclectic or more unified. And whether they went by the name of pirate or privateer, no one on board could challenge the fact that the  _Jolly Roger_  was one of the best bloody vessels to ever sail ― if not the best.

"I see our favorite trio are at it again." Turning, she watched as Killian self-consciously adjusted the cuffs of his long sleeves as he approached her, his eyes set on her face. If there was one word that could describe this man, it would be "impeccable." He was the closest personification of a true confidante.

He also was her lover and her truest friend.

Glancing at the ring on her right hand, Emma smiled to herself. "Oh, they'll stop in time for the morning meal," she quipped, drawing a grin from him.

"And a beautiful morning it is, Mistress Jones." He pointed out the sunrise with a nod of his head. "Perhaps this means it'll be a beautiful day as well instead of that hell of a tempest yesterday."

"Hmm...it may rain tonight, though." She glanced upward at the deceptively white clouds tinted by the sun, her view growing hazy as she focused beyond the image and became lost in thought.

"How's Henry?" he asked quietly, his hair blown back by the increasing wind. His long leather coat, worn and weathered, clung to his slender frame. "You never came back to bed last night."

She turned so that she was partly resting her side against the wood. "Asleep, but he'll awaken soon enough. Last night was so turbulent that he hardly got any rest at all..." Her voice quieted on picturing her son's sweet smile and ruffled hair as he clung to his fabric lion toy, nestled deeply in his "cave of covers," as he called it. "Come to think of it, neither did I. I feel quite sore."

Breaking out of her daze, Emma realized that Killian was staring at her, warmth emanating from his gaze. As soon as he noticed her inquiring expression, he cleared his throat and looked down at the passing ocean, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. She bit her tongue, holding back a smirk. He never was embarrassed like this in the privacy of their chambers, urging her onward with many a curse and swear as he pressed her deeper into the sheets, exploring her like he did the sea.

Shaking her head, Emma directed her gaze to the budding sun as the ship obeyed the will of her hands and nearly flew through the crystalline ocean, undeterred and bold. With all of the crew soon gathered round, it was time for their captain to encourage another day's trek, the care of their vessel a high priority as always.

It was time to go back to the Caribbean.

"Well, ladies and gents," Killian announced loudly, jumping down from the last of the rigging on the mast to land gracefully on the quarterdeck, "with the wind's strong current and our set course, we should be in the Lesser Antilles in little more than a week, so Godspeed to us this day!"

The crew cheered their approval and continued their work. Either they were cleaning or inspecting or tying off the rope and sails, as their captain was nothing if strict when she was demanding. Despite their ability to jest and be merry meanwhile, all of the sailors were extremely hardworking and dedicated to their assigned tasks, which was why the  _Jolly_  was renown among even the members of the royal court as one of the sturdiest and most beautiful vessels sailing the oceans. She was perfectly maintained, from top mast to hull, and every inch of her, from the cannons to the brig, was kept in top condition. Filth and vermin were not tolerated, and organization was one of the key methods to success in these war-ridden waters ― or so Emma repeated (to Killian's mock chagrin) during her "battle councils" every time they had an encounter with a Spanish galleon or a French warship.

The conflict over who should be Spain's next king had spread across Europe like a rampant wildfire, and in spite of England's many allies, France, half of Spain, and Bavaria were more than sufficient foes to contend with ― especially on the open seas. Considering what was at stake, the Queen had slyly made exceptions to the Treaty of Ryswyck, finding select mariners to join her Navy in the fight.

Including pirates.

Exceptional pirates.

Reverting to his previous composure, Killian cast her a wayward glance and a dashing wink before he continued to teach Henry, now wide awake and as energetic and talkative as ever, how to tie all varieties of knots. Doc and Belle were sharing a laugh as they emerged from the forecastle, finished with their tally of the remaining supplies. On the port side of the ship, Leroy was probably dangling on a swing-like ladder as he examined the damages done to the wood by both the storm and enemy cannon fire, while Smarty had gone to assist Smee with his inspection of their broadside cannons. As acting helmsman and first mate, Emma was occupied with the rest of the crew, checking on their progress and maintaining discipline on board.

She loved this, how they all could work as a team together and still be friends when the sun went down. It was her greatest motivation ― second only to Henry ― to continue to be a privateer, still subject to another's whims, as they traveled across the world.

Because at heart, she would always be a pirate, not a loyal servant of the British Crown. To listen and obey was not Emma's way.

"Ma!" Henry skipped over to her, beaming and proudly holding up his accomplishment. "Papa showed me how to tie a double-eight!"

Stroking his hair affectionately, she leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head, feeling warm inside when he snuggled into her side and hugged her around her hips. "It's perfect, kid," she whispered, holding Henry more tightly to her.

Killian's small smile widened on seeing their mutual embrace. She couldn't help smiling back at him. One day... One day, there would a time and place for more children in their family. Roland and Henry were only the first of many.

Someday.  _Soon_.

Pulling back, Henry proceeded to cling to the piece of rope, Leo firmly grasped by the leg in his other hand. "I've got to go now ― he's waiting for me!" he said seriously, running eagerly back to Killian without another word. She laughed gently, nodding at him, and her captain bowed his head in acknowledgment...but not before turning that genuine smile into a pleased smirk, offering her promises that were far from innocent.

"Captain!" Roland was waving his arms over his head, nearly jumping up and down in the crow's nest as he pointed at the horizon. "I see something up ahead!"

After ushering Henry to Belle's care, Killian took out his spyglass immediately and eyed the area.

Damn. And it just had to happen when their munitions were nearly depleted. Well, if it were an enemy ship, there would be no other option but to run ― the  _Jolly_  couldn't handle another attack in her state.

No matter, Henry would be safe with Belle below deck. It always hurt Emma to have to keep him away from this part of her life, but he was too young to understand. She didn't want anything to happen to him meanwhile, which was why she always wanted him to feel that everything was alright, that she and Killian were alright, that the bloody ship wasn't dodging cannon fire right and left as they headed into battle, marauding their foes and plundering their gold stores within an inch of their lives.

Vaguely, she could see a burst of smoke obscure the most distant ship. Then a tell-tale boom rocked the nearby waves with a deafening roar. Obviously, that had been the first warning shot from the vessel, hesitating about its next course of action.

_The die has been cast._

That sharp thrill in her blood at the prospect of conquest sprung forth.

"Ready the cannons! Prepare to return fire!" Killian reached her side in minutes. "Bloody hell, it seems we have no choice but to fight. We can give them a run for their money first, but there's a heavy chance they'll catch up to us in our state."

"I'm up for a challenge if you are, Captain." She tilted her chin up to look into his eyes. "Besides, have we ever failed before?"

His answer was to cover her hand with his own. Then he leaned in and kissed her fiercely. She smiled against his lips, returning his fervor with all she had.

They were partners. They were strong. They would survive this because they were both survivors. Nothing could stop them.

They would never surrender.

Willing the gusting winds to make the  _Jolly_  go faster, they turned the wheel hard to port.

No matter the outcome, they would fight — and win — this battle like they always did.

Together.

* * *

  **THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My dear readers...it is incredibly hard for me to say goodbye to this story. It was my first fanfic ever and my first real attempt at writing fiction. In March 2013, I posted my first chapter. 4 and a half years later, I am compelled to close the doors on what has been an inspiring and educational journey, both for my writing and myself. I do love this fic - very, very much - and I will always cherish it beyond words for what it did for me. It gave me the courage and motivation to contribute over 500,000 words to the CS fandom, to put my work out there and share it with all of you.
> 
> However, my time in this fandom is long done. I feel that this last chapter is a fitting ending, but I apologize if you feel anything is lacking. Thank you for your infinite patience, support, and love. ♥ My 2 remaining fics will be finished in due course as I determinedly plow towards the finish line. All the best to you, and I would appreciate a final review if you would be so kind! 
> 
> P.S. For news about my original fiction and other updates, please visit [my writing blog](https://nataliathewriter.blogspot.com). You also can always message me privately on FF.net - my account is still active under the same username as here.


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